


heartlines

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mating Bond, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: Trevor Belmont has long known that he's damned.A blessing, his parents had called him;a sign of heretical dealings with demons, had been the charge of the church. The latter is looking to be more true than the former. 'Til Dracula's horde is released upon the land and Trevor's world is turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

Trevor has long lived with the knowledge that he’s damned.

Last son of the house of Belmont, excommunicated and damned in the church’s and God’s eyes both.

_A blessing_ , his parents had called him. _A sign of the Belmonts’ dealings with demons_ , the church had said when denouncing them.

An omega was acceptable, when a woman. Men are uncommon, a curiosity mostly; something to be sought after by the nobility for the novelty of it. But among the commoners, with the church breathing down their necks, it was something to be feared – so unnatural.

So, he hides what he is.

Alcohol has a very strong scent. Sharp, overpowering and more than enough to make any alpha gag at the absolute stench of it that clings to him. Add on that he’s rarely afforded the chance to bathe and that he usually carries the delightful scents of stale vomit and sweat, there’s little chance for any stray alpha to be able to scent the underlying sweetness of an omega. Easier and better to be mistaken for a useless drunk than the truth.

He avoids the few public bathing houses, washing up only when necessary in streams and rivers. It’s not only about the scent; people are, Trevor knows, naturally curious and there’s always that want to show off and brag. Soulmarks bring that out in people.

But his just has to be in such an _awkward_ location. Trevor’s only seen it a handful of times, written in a beautiful, scrawling aristocratic hand that curves along the small of his back. Right along the edge of his ass.

Quite certainly, it’s a big fucking clue as to what he _is_ – because what good, respectable alpha would have the name of their chosen omega written right across his ass?

It’s one thing that he can take a grim satisfaction in: his family took this secret of his with them to their graves. Trevor is the only one who knows of his soulmark now.

No one else knows that he literally has a name written on his ass.

And Trevor fully intends to keep it that way. It’s a secret he’ll take to his very early grave. His life ended that day, in the fire. He’s simply been living on borrowed time since. Eventually, death will catch up with him and he looks forward to that day.

There’s little point in seeking out someone when you’ve got what amounts to a death wish and a bounty on your head. Not that it matters either way, who would want a Belmont – a _male_ one, no less – for a soulmate and omega anyway? Yes, Trevor tells himself, it’s better that he remain alone until death finally catches up to him.

He’s old and grown out of the silly fairy tales and stories that his mother told him and his siblings when they were children. There’s no happily ever afters; life is pain, life is hard, and people will hate you for what you are simply because someone tells them that they should. That’s what life is. It’s cold, cruel and unfair.

Besides, a name on his ass doesn’t mean that he’ll be wanted or accepted. _Male_ omegas are shunned and die alone or are used and abused, there is no inbetween. No good, God-fearing Christian would want him; not when he’s little more than damaged heretical goods, after all.

And that thought plagues him down through the years. _Damaged goods_.

There’s just… something _wrong_ with him. If there wasn’t, the church would not have condemned him and his entire family to the flame.

Yes, he realizes. There’s something wrong with him. No one would want him. It’s better this way.

He’s just waiting to die, after all.

He simply drifts from place to place, from one cheap tavern to another. Occasionally, he picks up some work – just enough to put enough coin in his pocket to afford his next drinking spell at the local tavern.

So, he thinks nothing when his feet take him in the direction of Gresit.

 

 

 

Gresit is an absolute shit hole of a place. And that has nothing to do with how he’s forced to enter the city. He can add the rank smell of shit to his accumulation of scents now, and it’s definitely toe-curling in how awful it is. Even Trevor’s nose is wrinkling and he wonders if he’ll have the chance for a quick rinse and wash before he moves on – just to get the worst of the stink out.

But then, the entire city has the cloying scent of rot clinging to it. There’s an actual river of bodies running through it; no one is even bothering with the typical mass graves. But then, how could they when they’re barricaded within the walls of the city itself?

Honestly, Trevor doesn’t care. He simply wants to collect what information he can and be on his way quick as possible. At the most, he only sees himself spending a couple of hours in Gresit; long enough to grab a bite to eat, something to drink, and perhaps a quick wash.

Things do not go to plan. Damn his bleeding heart.

Maybe it’s the Belmont in him. Always needing to help people in need.

He just can’t seem to walk away and mind his own business. But seeing supposed good men of the cloth bully and threaten someone, simply because they need someone to blame for how the world is going to hell, doesn’t sit right with him. It just leaves a _really_ sour taste in his mouth.

And, as he says to the men, he might be a little out of practice, but he’s stone cold sober.

It’s a painfully short fight, over in a matter of minutes. But it’s still enough to get his blood pumping and the adrenaline flowing. He’s always liked a good fight.

The Speaker Elder, however, offers him his thanks, and then extends to him an invitation, “But I would be glad of your company on the way to our lodging.”

It’s… companionable. And nice. Companionship is something that’s long been denied him – both by his own choice and his family’s denunciation by the church. No one would willingly spend time with what amounts to a heretic if given the choice.

“Forgive me for asking,” the Elder says. “But how long have you been hiding what you are?”

Trevor stumbles, misses a step, “Wha…” He looks away, stares pointedly at the ground, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s quite obvious to one as old as I am,” the Elder replies. “I have smelled worse than what you are using to disguise yourself.”

Trevor bites the inside of his cheek, “You know then, huh?”

“The truth of what you are? It’s obvious to those who know what to look for. And if one spends enough time in your company, they become… inured to the smell you have so carefully cultivated.”

“Don’t usually spend too long in one place,” Trevor replies. “So it’s not much a problem. No friends either. Or family. No one’s supposed to know.”

“Ah yes, it’s not something that your church approves of. I have heard the stories, and know that once, you would have been considered a great blessing; a sign not only of God’s favour of your family, but of your bloodline’s potency.”

He flinches, then says softly, “My… parents said something like that once.”

“They were right, you know. There is no greater gift that can be bestowed than that of bringing new life into the world. In such dark times as we live in, we must take our joy in what we can.”

“Just… don’t mention it, alright? People already have enough of a reason to want me dead; I don’t need to be giving them any more.”

“Of course.”

The silence that falls is not awkward, though Trevor thinks it should be. He feels oddly out of step, having had his secret discovered so quickly by someone he’s only just met. He’s not used to that; most people don’t pay a stinking drunkard much mind.

It’s his own damn fault. Damn that bleeding heart of his, always insisting that he help those who need it most.

Within a short amount of time, they emerge from the maze of stone streets and alleys that make up the ‘proper’ city of Gresit. At one time, these would have been the slums and ghettos of Gresit; now, though, they’re little more than a deserted ruin, the people who once lived here either lying dead in the river of corpses that runs through the city, or wisely having chosen to flee.

Or, more than likely, blamed and executed as a result. The most vulnerable are always the first to go.

“How many are you?” Trevor asks, at long last. He’s had some experience with Speakers before, from his childhood when his parents… they travel in small, nomadic tribes, he recalls that much. Usually family groups that occasionally meet to exchange knowledge and to mingle.

“Eleven,” the Elder answers. “Though I insist that we be counted as twelve. One of us is… missing, you see.”

Trevor blinks. _Missing now_?

The Elder leads him to one of the larger, dilapidated houses. This one still has a roof, which is more than can be said about the majority of them. The Elder smiles, gestures to the door, “This is where we live. Please, come inside. Meet my people.”

It’s little more than a shack with a fireplace and mounds of hay to sleep in. There was likely a second floor at one point, but it’s either rotten away or collapsed. The little light let in by the windows is supplemented by over a dozen lit candles scattered about.

“Elder! You’ve returned, we were worried!”

From the scent, they’re mostly alphas, with a couple omegas mixed in. Unsurprising, really, for Speakers tend to stay in their mated pairs wherever possible and keep their children with them for much of their lives – till their own mates lead them elsewhere.

“I said that I would,” the Elder replies. “Though, I did run into some of the Christian priests who gave me some… trouble.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No, thanks to this gentleman.” He steps aside, gesturing at Trevor as he steps fully into the solitary room of the house and closes the heavy wooden door behind him. “He was kind enough to step in and resolve the matter for me, and then see me safely back. Though, I fear that trouble will come as a result.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m out of practice,” Trevor admits. “They’re both still alive.”

“You used _violence_ against them?”

Trevor shrugs, “Seemed to be my only option.”

The Elder quiets the young speaker with a hand on his shoulder, “The younger people believe that words speak louder than actions.”

“You’re Speakers; words are what you do.” He pauses, leans against the window, “Perhaps, though, you can tell me why you’re here.”

“Speakers live anywhere they deem right,” the younger speaker says. “You must know that.”

He sighs; he’s getting nowhere. “I know Speakers are nomadic tribes. You seem to have been here a while.”

“And how do _you_ know that?”

“Because the locals are blaming _you_ for the attacks.”

“That’s the church’s fault. They need _someone_ to blame. Other than themselves, and the church would rather not take responsibility for bringing Dracula’s horde down upon the land.”

“Oh?”

“There were Speakers in Targoviste a year ago,” the Elder explains. “Dracula summoned and unleashed his horde upon the land in retribution for the church killing his wife; they burned her at the stake as a witch.”

“ _Shit_.”

“That is one way of putting it.”

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

The Elder sighs, and takes a seat on an overturned bucket. After a lengthy pause, he begins, “There is no structure left in Gresit. No doctors, no aid. If you know Speakers, then you know we can’t turn away from those in need. _That_ is why we are here.”

“May as well tell him the rest,” the younger one says.

“In Speaker history, there is an old story, a legend, probably. The story says that a saviour sleeps under Gresit, a great hero who sleeps until he is needed, until there is a darkness upon the land.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard that one,” Trevor remarks. “The Sleeping Soldier, it was called. It’s a local legend. Sounds weirdly convenient to me, if you know what I mean.”

“Exactly how much do you know about this, sir?” the Elder asks.

“I’m a Belmont.” He tugs his cloak aside, revealing his family crest upon his breast. “So I know you’re a nomadic people who gather knowledge, memorize it, carry complete spoken histories with you. I also know you gather hidden knowledge and have practitioners of magic in your tribes.”

“A Belmont?” the young Speaker sounds shocked. “I thought your family had vanished.”

He snorts, “If _vanished_ is the polite way of saying exiled, hated, and burned out of the ancestral home, then… yeah.”

“Then you know something of magic,” the Elder continues. “And so you know that just because we found a story in our past, it doesn’t mean it originated there. The wisest and cleverest of our magicians know that dying is not absolute, that it is possible to hear stories from the future.”

“So, if I’m to understand this right: you believe that there’s someone that can save the city asleep under it and you’re here to wait for him?”

“One of us went to look for him.”

“This would be your “missing” Speaker, then?”

“Yes. That one went into the catacombs under the mausoleum west of the church. They… have not returned. With no one willing or able to help us, our searches have been unsuccessful.” He pauses, then says, “So, what are your plans?”

“I’m just passing through,” Trevor responds. “Once I’ve found some food and drink and _perhaps_ a bath, I’m leaving.”

“You… won’t stay? You won’t help?”

“This is what the church wanted,” he spits out. Venom burns against his tongue, a malicious hatred that has not died in the years since the fire. “ _My_ family were the only ones who could’ve fought Dracula and his army, but _they_ didn’t want us.”

“But the ordinary people of Wallachia, they didn’t get the choice.”

He’s heard _that_ before.

“For evil bastards to win power, all ordinary people have to do is stand aside and keep quiet. There’s _always_ a choice.”

“Then you may watch us die, too.”

“Don’t be crazy. Leave now. If you head south, you can–”

“It’s his grandchild!”

“Arn!”

“I don’t care!” he snaps. “It’s the Elder’s grandchild down there. We can’t even bury them. It’s not our way to just leave our dead unattended to!”

“We stay for the people of Gresit,” the Elder insists.

“Yes, we do,” he admits. “But we also stay because we hope.”

Trevor heaves a sigh, crosses his arms, “So, let me get this straight: You’re staying to die with the _good people_ of Gresit, not _just_ because it’s a good thing to do, but because you don’t have your grandchild’s body?”

It’s utterly ridiculous, yet he can perfectly understand it. Hadn’t he gone back, after all? Dug through the smoking ruins, to find some remnant of his father, his mother, his brother and sister, his nieces and nephews? Some part of him had hoped, had taken ashes to bury and hold a service of his own.

They deserved better than they got. And so, he supposes, does this Speaker.

The Elder eventually responds, “If you want to put it that way.”

He’s an idiot with a bleeding heart, who just can’t say no.

“If I go and recover your kid’s body, will you _please_ leave?”

“Why would you do that?”

“They’re going to come for you soon,” Trevor says, voice low and soft. “The good people. They were talking about it in the marketplace this morning. It’s going to be a slaughter.” He turns to the Elder, “If I find your grandchild, will you leave this city?”

“If that is your condition, then yes, we will.”

He hates that when his emotions get the better of him, his scent flares. There’s knowing, pitying looks in the eyes of the Speakers.

No bath, then.

“I’m leaving now. Don’t go about looking for people to help. Stay right here.”

“Belmont,” the Elder says, halting Trevor in his tracks as he reaches for the door. “It is not the dying that frightens us. It’s living without ever having done our best.”

“I don’t care.”

 

 

 

The mausoleum is easy enough to find, and Trevor has had experience enough with locating hidden catacombs and secret entrances to last him more than a lifetime. The Belmont family crypt had been littered with them – both for practice and convenience. They needed room, after all, for all those bodies. The Belmonts _did_ tend to have large broods.

While the entrance is easy enough to find, as is a light, his luck does not extend much further.

He makes his way slowly into the catacombs, until the floor gives way beneath him.

Twice.

He sprawls on the debris, back and limbs aching, and slowly begins to climb back to his feet, recovering his blade from where it was knocked from his hand in the fall. It’s when he goes to straighten up, to take in the area, that he sense it.

His mother had described the pull as a tug. That it would feel like being drawn in, the way you feel when home comes into sight at the end of a long journey.

Trevor feels that now.

“Fucking shit.”

Three steps into the hall, and lights crackle and spark to life – throwing the large hall into a strange blue relief. Stone corpses litter the hall and, at its centre –

“Huh, either someone left a statue of a Speaker down here, or–”

The ground trembles in response.

“Ah, fuck.”

Trevor’s trained his entire life to fight creatures of the night. And, over the years, he’s slain more than his fair share. It’s been quite some time, though, since he last fought one. He might be a little… rusty.

Certainly, though, it gets his blood pumping. Including the nasty gash he takes to the head when it throws him across the room.

As it turns out, he needn’t have worried. He takes it down easily, with quite the show of acrobatics, he might add. Shame there was no one there to admire them.

When he lands for the final time, his blood is almost… singing. And that draw he’s felt since he first entered the catacombs feels _stronger_. Something pulses, hot and heavy, at the base of his spine and Trevor realizes belatedly that it’s _anticipation_. His instincts are purring, senses on high alert, as though his mate is simply hiding behind one of the columns.

Impossible. There’s no one down here but him and –

He has to catch the Speaker before the statue hits the ground and shatters. Considering that they’ve come through the battle undamaged, he’d rather not have to pick up the pieces of a body now.

As the enchantment wears off, he catches their scent. Sweet, vaguely floral – lavender, perhaps? – and _definitely_ not an alpha.

Her eyes flutter, then she opens her mouth and… promptly pushes away from him to vomit all over the floor.

“Granddaughter, then.”

He goes to retrieve his sword, grimaces as he pulls it from the cyclops’ eye. He flicks off the worst of the gore, before wiping the rest off on its corpse.

“What… what happened?”

Her voice is quite soft, he thinks. Nice and melodic, suits a Speaker well enough. He imagines that she tells stories well, easily entrances her audience.

But no, he feels no draw to her. And besides, she definitely does _not_ look like a man. Her scent is proof enough. The name written across his ass belongs to a man, that much he definitely knows. Unless Speakers have adopted some strange new naming conventions beyond dressing their women as men for safety when they travel.

“You walked into a cyclops,” he says simply, pointing his thumb in the direction of its corpse. “Turns you to stone and then feeds on your terror while you’re trapped in your own body.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Did… did you _climb_ on me?”

“Mm, a bit.”

“That was rude.”

He blinks and stares, “Excuse me?”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“I met your grandfather. He wouldn’t leave the city until he had your body. I came down to recover your remains so the Speakers would go to safety.”

She stares right back at him, then goes, “But the Sleeping Warrior is still down here...”

“There _is_ no Sleeping Soldier. It’s just a trap for gullible Speakers.”

“But the old stories say–”

“Don’t care, let’s go. If you want to get yourself killed so badly, do it another time. Not that there’s much of that left...”

She squints at him, nostrils flaring, and _shit_. There’s a spark of realization in her eyes. But she, at first, says nothing, simply asks, “Who, exactly, are you?”

“Trevor,” he replies quietly. Then, after a long pause, adds, “Belmont.”

“The Belmonts fight monsters, do they not? Shouldn’t you–”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“You’re very rude. And don’t at all live up to the family name.”

He shrugs, “I’m a blackmark on the family; a sign that we dealt in black magic, if you listen to the church.”

“Which I do not.” She sighs, “I’m Sypha Belnades, by the way.”

“Do you always talk this much?”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Or maybe _you_ are just out of practice at holding a conversation with a person rather than your ale.”

“Most people don’t want to hold a conversation with a heretical spawn of the devil himself,” Trevor responds, more than a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Now can we _go_?”

He hates this place, feels on edge and his blood… well, it hasn’t quite stopped _humming_. His mate’s close, that much he’s certain of; and he’s anxious to put as much space between him and them as possible.

Though, a not so small part of him hopes that they survive the horde’s coming attack and _leave_. He hopes – and doesn’t that just rankle him? – that maybe he could convince them. Or someone else, actually. Better someone else than him. They might get ideas, then, and he can’t let them do that.

“Fine,” Sypha huffs. She motions to him, “Lead the way, then, _Belmont_.”

“I don’t think I like how you say my name.”

“Good. You’re not supposed to.”


	2. Chapter 2

The journey out of the catacombs, out through the mausoleum and back to the Speakers’ dwelling is… a tense one. Sypha, he finds, won’t stop glaring at him; as though he’s done something terribly wrong and she’s just _itching_ to tell him all about it.

“Alright, fine. Say what you want, and then can we walk in peace without you trying to glare a hole in my back.”

“You are a Belmont,” Sypha says simply. “Belmonts fight and slay creatures of the night; it’s as though it’s their entire reason for being. Speakers tell many stories of your family’s deeds. Yet… you would not raise a hand in the people’s defense.”

He snorts, “ _Those_ people decided we weren’t good enough. That we practiced black magic and made deals with demons. Excommunicated all of us as a result, saw to it that… that I was all that’s left.”

And shit, of course his voice has to catch.

“So you’re…”

“Last son of the house of Belmont. Not that I’m much of one.”

Her chest puffs out, indignant now, scent flaring, “You would speak so poorly of us to one of your own? You’re not what the _church_ says you are. You are what _you_ choose to be, and you, Trevor _Belmont_ ,” again with the emphasis on his last name, “are a very terrible man, indeed.”

“I’d hate to be mistaken for a good one.”

“Yet,” Sypha says, ignoring him and continuing. “You came to save me. At great risk to your own life and safety. A terrible man would not have cared nor involved himself in the matters of others. So either there’s something in this for you, or you _are_ a good man who tells himself and others otherwise.”

“And what if I’m neither?”

“I think you are lost,” Sypha says, as they emerge out into daylight. “And need to be shown the way.”

“And you, what, think that’s your messiah? Your… Sleeping Soldier?”

“Perhaps just another omega smacking you upside the head,” Sypha snaps back. “He’s still down there, if I could just–”

“We’re going to see your grandfather, so we can show him you’re not dead. If you want to go back there and get yourself killed by whatever else could be lurking in that hellhole, be my guest. But do it later, I’d rather not have to bring news of your death if I can help it.”

“You’re very rude.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And you don’t care.”

“Not one bit.”

“But perhaps you _would_ care to know that I can scent you quite clearly. I’m sorry, but you’ll need to roll in stronger sewage than what you have if you intend to continue to try and fool people about what you are.”

He chokes, nearly trips over his own feet.

“I do not stink!”

“You smell like an omega who slept in three day old sewage,” Sypha retorts primly. “And who may have vomited in their shoes. You would do better to bathe and accentuate your scent, rather than try to hide it with stench.”

“What? Just go around announcing what I am? Sorry to burst your bubble, but us men aren’t exactly _welcome_ anywhere. Unless someone’s in need of a whore.”

Perhaps the bitterness in his voice tells her that it’s a sensitive subject and she should drop it. Or maybe it’s the Speakers’ dwelling come into view. Either way, Sypha says nothing more on the subject and, for the time, blessedly lets it drop.

Her grandfather, though, looks so… _happy_ when Trevor steps aside and reveals his granddaughter, alive and well. It jerks at something inside of him, tugs at the loose thread of memories he shoves aside and keeps behind a heavy, locked door. The two of them share a tearful embrace. And he gets a nose full of her scent.

Grudgingly, he admits she _may_ have a point. But like hell is he going to say anything to her!

“Thank you,” her grandfather says.

“You’re welcome.”

“I failed to find the Sleeper,” Sypha admits. “I’m sorry, I–”

“I doubt that there’s anyone down there. Well, anyone _friendly_ , at least.” He shrugs, “There’s someone wriggling with pleasure in his coffin right now thinking of people of your girl walking into the cyclops he left down there.”

“ _Or_ ,” Sypha interrupts. “There _is_ something down there, so important that it must be guarded by monsters! What makes _you_ so certain that there’s nothing down there?”

“Speakers are not the only ones who pass information down through the generations. Belmonts do, as well. And do you remember what we saw down there? Metal veins pumping hot liquid? Torches that light by themselves that _exactly_ fit descriptions written by my great-grandfather. Descriptions of the inside of _Dracula’s_ castle.

“I don’t know what’s down there,” _your mate_ , a treacherous voice whispers, “but it’s not a messiah.”

And with that, he turns away, prepared to take his leave because he’s _tired_ already of playing the hero. Tired of people all too ready to lay down their lives for people undeserving of it, who would sooner stab you in the back and see you dead than admit that the church or they themselves were wrong.

“I’ll be going now.”

“Please,” the Elder says, hurriedly. “Stay with us; I cannot begin to repay you for what you have done for me.”

“You’re leaving tonight,” Trevor responds. “That was the deal.”

“Well, ah, yes, until then?”

“Right,” Trevor replies. “I’ll come back later.”

Really, he’s still hoping that he’ll be able to find a drink – hopefully some beer – and maybe a stable or something to catch a few hours of sleep in. His scent is still fresh in his nostrils and _damn_ , but Sypha had been right; his usual stench is simply not going to cut it.

Either he needs to go on another trek through the shit hole he took to get in, or he needs more drink. One of the two will do. He hopes.

But he can’t ignore the fact that his blood’s still… humming. And that the mark at the small of his back is burning against the skin. Though it’s fainter now than it was before, it hasn’t gone away. Though Sypha may be eager to awaken a possibly sleeping mad vampire, Trevor would rather let sleeping dogs lie.

Whatever’s down there can keep on sleeping; his life doesn’t need any further complication.

And whatever it is that’s down there? It’s not the messiah that the Speakers believe it is. There’s something foul and unnatural, something demanding a stake in its heart. If Trevor actually gave a damn, he’d put one in it himself.

He doesn’t, though, and there’s a part of him too terrified of what he might find.

The air outside is blessedly cool against his skin. He tips his head back, enjoying the gentle breeze and sun on his face.

Of course, he barely takes a few steps before there’s a knife in his face.

“Careful,” a man coos. “My knife hand’s not too steady. I could slip and take your eye out.”

A quick look around reveals himself to be surrounded. Though Trevor’s quite aware that he could easily take each of them out, that would require an extension of effort that he’s not too sure he’s keen on. Not to mention, there’s more than just the two he took on in the alley – including a couple of archers. There’s no cover for him to take.

“The Bishop of Gresit _humbly_ requests your presence.” The man’s quite big – broader in the shoulders than Trevor and definitely wider, though that seems to be the result of fat, not muscle. Trevor could easily take him out, if he so wanted.

“I don’t think that I’m allowed in churches.”

The man smirks, “And what are you going to do, _breeder_?”

He bristles at the slur. But bites back a comeback when he feels the press of a spear blade at his back and the sound of an arrow being notched.

“I didn’t think so. You’ll come with us now.”

 

 

 

The cathedral he’s brought to looks as though it’s definitely seen better days. It looks rather like it survived a fire – and judging by its surroundings, it likely has – but the windows are still intact and the doors creak ominously open as he’s shoved roughly inside.

Several of the men smirk, one even has the _gall_ to lick his lips.

Trevor strides straight into the church, and is, perhaps, only a little surprised that he doesn’t burst into flame when he does. _Hellspawn_ , a priest had said of him once. _Whore_ has a much better ring to it. He wears that like a badge of honour – despite how untrue it actually is.

His… escort leaves him, falling back to the doors of the church, leaving him alone for a moment before an older man strides out towards the pulpit.

Even from so far, the man reeks of self-righteousness. And carries the definitive, strong, biting and acrid scent of an alpha. Trevor wrinkles his nose. So he’s dealing with the worst of the worst. Lovely.

“I am the Bishop of Gresit,” he states. “I had been… informed that we had a consort of the devil within our midst.”

He ignores the dig at his identity, “You’re not from around here.”

“No,” the Bishop replies slowly, his mouth curling in disdain. “I’m originally from Targoviste. I was an aide to the archbishop. But how did _you_ divine that?”

“Cause you’re not running away from the baby-eating freaks that raid the town every night.”

“A true man of God does not run when faced with Satan’s work.” The Bishop’s steps are careful measured, his voice even. “I am here to save Gresit.”

Trevor snorts, “And how do you intend to do that?”

“You were not brought here to demand answers of me, _breeder_. Do not think yourself my equal. I am a man of God and you, well, _you_ are a mistake – a blight upon this earth. But the matter of your… existence is not why you were brought here.”

“Tough shit. How do you intend to help save the people of this city by killing Speakers?”

“I do not answer to _whores_!” The Bishop looks away, takes a breath, then continues, “In times such as these, one cannot live without God. Quite literally. Besides, the Speakers brought this upon themselves.”

“So, what? You think that the horde has come because people haven’t been fervent enough in their belief? And you were at Targoviste?”

“While the archbishop may have been… compromised in his ability to protect the city and the country, I am not. I was sent away long before Dracula came to Targoviste. We had… a disagreement on a matter of _clerical_ discipline.”

“But you _were_ there for the burning of Dracula’s wife.”

The Bishop chuckles, “Ah yes, of course. I arranged it, in fact. The woman was a witch, and there can be no doubt now that she consorted with the Devil. She even claimed to have _married_ him.” He casts an eye over Trevor, “At most, that cannot be said about you. Your family, however…”

His hands are balled into tight fists at his side and he bites down the bile in his throat. There’s no hiding what he is when he’s so… worked up. His scent burns in his nostrils, only fuelling his anger.

“And why bring me here, then? To discipline _me_ the same way you did her?”

“If you remain within the city walls, I shall have to. You are, after all, little better than a bride of Satan – as an excommunicant heretic and _breeder_ , no less. And so, I have an offer for you, breeder.”

He pauses, obviously for dramatic effect, then states quite simply, “Your life. Until the sun goes down, you may walk unmolested within the walls of the city. The Speakers will be dealt with, and the city will be secure. But you... you could undo all of my tireless work on behalf of the soul of Gresit with your very _presence_.”

_God_ , he thinks, _he really believes this shit._

“You are to leave the city by sundown, or you shall not see the morning. I will not be held responsible should your… condition be made known. Despite the crimes you have committed against my aides, despite the crimes your family has committed against God, and despite the _blight_ of your very existence, you may walk safely… until sundown. Am I clear?”

“As crystal,” Trevor bites out.

“Do not underestimate the power of the word of God, _breeder_. It was the undoing of your family and it will be yours as well. The people of this city are _mine_ and Our Lord’s now, and they will do as _I_ ask in his name.” He looks down his nose at Trevor, “Should you stay, you will understand. Now leave my sight, _breeder_ , before my forgiving mood sours.”

It’s as good a dismissal as he can expect. Trevor takes two steps backwards, grits his teeth, turns and leaves.

When he emerges from the church, he squares his shoulders and holds his head high. He ignores the hungry eyes that fasten upon him as he passes, the jibes, and the insults. But something inside of him, something dark, instinctual and vulnerable, clenches when he hears the threats.

“Bet his cunt would feel real good around my prick.”

“It’d be looser than a street whore. What’ve you let fuck you, breeder? Been offering yourself up to the demons outside?”

“Smells like shit, though. Might catch something if your prick gets too close.”

_I’d sooner slit my own throat than let one of you touch me_.

He strides through the streets of Gresit, anger coursing through him. There’s little for him to do, now, for he knows that the bishops’ men will have spread word throughout the city that a heretical omega is in their midst. The ‘warm’ welcome he received when he first arrived will be little more than a pipe dream now.

Well, at least he can enjoy something of a decent reminder of the day in the company of the Speakers. And make certain that they keep to their deal and _leave_ before sundown; it’s more important that they do so now than ever.

 

 

 

Sypha looks less than happy to see him when he returns. Her flat, unimpressed look is a wonder to behold.

“By the way,” he says as he strolls in. “You’re all going to die. As the bishop’s insane and is completely fucking convinced that the only way to save Gresit is if you all die at the hands of a crazed mob.”

“When?” the Elder asks softly.

“Tonight, before the next horde raid. That’s his logic, anyway.”

“We can’t just _leave_ ,” Sypha says, standing up. “These people need _us_.”

“‘These people’ think _you_ are the cause of their suffering! They just need you to die!”

“Only because they have been misled by the church,” the Elder says, rising from his seat. “Does one run away when someone tells lies about them? What has the church said about the Belmonts?”

He flinches. It’s instinctual at this point.

“And what did you do in the face of their lies?”

“I’m not running,” he spits out. “I’m _not_ a coward.”

“Not at all,” the Elder states, folding his hands together. “You are defeated. There is no fight left in you, for you have decided already that you lost.”

“They burned my home! My _family_! And they would see me burned as well! _There was no choice_!”

“But we do,” Sypha states simply. “And we will choose to fight our own battles.”

“You’re going to lose.”

“Of course, but perhaps we will show someone that there is something larger at stake. There is a war going on, Trevor Belmont, not a physical one that we can win or lose, but one for the soul of the people of Wallachia itself. For, if we would turn against each other and slaughter each other, solely because a mad man has loosed his horde upon us all, then perhaps we deserve to die.”

“It’s time that we stood up,” Sypha states calmly. “Those of us who have the power, the strength to do so – for those who cannot, Trevor _Belmont_. It is _our_ war now; I will not see us lose.”

 

 

 

Running through the streets of Gresit, an angry mob on his heels, is not at all how Trevor pictured spending his evening.

Trevor will readily admit, he’s made some truly stupid ass decisions in his life. He hates that Sypha was right, that her grandfather was right; that he had given up, that he’d been tired. For years after his family’s death, he’d sought some answer, had fought and fought, thinking that if he could slay one more demon, one more vampire, one more creature – that he could somehow redeem his family, that he could make them _proud_.

There had never been an answer to his desperate prayers, to his cries. Nothing had soothed the nightmares, no amount of blood spilled could ever bring his family back, could give him what he needed. His family was dead and gone, their good names and memories smeared, and he could do _nothing_.

It hadn’t mattered, in the end. No matter how much good he did, he always ended up with a punch in the face or a knife in the back. It didn’t matter. The moment he was revealed as a Belmont – as an _omega_ – those he helped would turn against him.

But the Speakers… the Speakers have done naught but good, ready to fight and give their lives for a cause they believe in – a cause his _family_ had believed in and given their lives for.

He squeezes his eyes shut, feels the sting at the corners.

How could he do any less?

True, the people of Wallachia do not deserve it, that has been his experience. But there are those out there, like Sypha and her grandfather and the others, who believe that Wallachia can be better – that the _people_ can be better. That there are yet still good people in the world.

Trevor hates being wrong.

Wallachia is many things. It took everything from him. His family, his purpose, nearly his _life_. And yet still, he would gladly give it, for Wallachia and its people are his _home_. He would rather die fighting, blade and whip in hand, than cowering in a ditch, with a demon’s claws in his back.

The streets of Gresit twist and turn, and it’s easy enough to lose both himself and his pursuers within them. He keeps running, until his foot hits a loose cobblestone, his ankle rolls and he goes down _hard_.

_Fuck_. He stumbles back to his feet, ankle throbbing and his gait is uneven as he continues, just like his breath.

“You’re very good at getting yourself into these sorts of situations, aren’t you?”

“Sypha!”

She emerges from one of the many alleys, a ball of flame hovering in her hand.

“You never said you were a magician.”

The flame dissipates in a puff of smoke. Sypha pulls back her hood, crouches beside him, and presses a hand above his ankle. “I’m full of surprises.”

“How bad?”

“It’s only sprained,” Sypha says. She reaches into her cloak, withdraws a small vial. “Here. That will numb the pain; I will see to it properly once we’re somewhere safe.”

“And where would you suggest we go?”

Sypha’s eyebrows go up, and then she points at the ground, “Below, of course.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me… you’re not still on about your sleeping god, are you?”

“I have not forgotten, no. But the catacombs are a safer place than up here. We only need enough time for me to see to your ankle, and then we can plan our next move.”

“Our?”

Though she’s considerably shorter than Trevor is, she still shoulders his weight and the two of them make their hurried, unsteady way forwards.

“I never asked for you to save me,” Sypha answers, after a long pause. “I fight my own battles. And if you cannot be trusted with a simple distraction, I’m afraid you need my help more than you think.”

“Well, maybe if they looked after their streets a little better, I wouldn’t be in this position.”

She’s right about the medicine, however. It almost completely numbs the pain; all he can feel is a slight twinge.

Gresit is, apparently, littered with entrances to the catacombs. Although, given that the city seems to be slowly falling apart, it’s also easy enough to find a place where the street’s completely collapsed and so, they’re able to slip inside.

With Trevor’s luck being what it is, however, it only _mildly_ surprises him when the floor of the tunnel collapses under them, sending them tumbling deeper into the catacombs.

“Just how deep do these go?” Trevor wonders, as they wander down another corridor. He doubts that they’ll be able to find their way out again; unless Sypha’s carrying around a map in those robes of hers. Or head, now that he thinks about it, she is a Speaker after all.

“An old legend says that they go to the centre of the earth itself,” Sypha replies softly. She cups a hand of flame in her hand, lighting their way – though there’s many of those strange, self-lighting blue torches everywhere. “But I think we’re… deeper than we were before. It feels like it, at least.”

He rests a wary hand on the hilt of his blade. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and… and there’s anticipation boiling low in his gut. So deep, the draw he felt earlier when rescuing Sypha is _stronger_. His mate is close, that much he knows for certain.

Four more tunnels, one cave-in, and one dead-end later, Trevor’s quite sure that they’re lost in one of those magical labyrinths that his parents had spoken of and were written of in the family bestiary. They’re supposed to be controlled by demons, who trap humans within them and constantly change the layout to disorient the victims before devouring them when they’ve lost all hope of escape.

“I could be wrong,” Trevor says slowly. “But I’m fairly certain we’ve been this way before. Or not? All these tunnels look the same to me.”

“No, this one is… different,” Sypha says slowly. “I hate to admit it, Belmont, but we might be lost.”

“Might?”

“Well–”

And then the floor gives out beneath them.

Again.

Truly, Trevor thinks, his luck could not get any worse.

Until it does.

It feels as though the mark on his back is on _fire_. It burns, sending pulses of white hot heat up through his spine and down to his toes. He feels as though he’s been lit on fire from the inside, like he might just burn up then and there.

“Sypha,” he calls out. And _fuck_ , but he sounds breathless. “Are you alright?”

“Fine!”

He still feels numb. The medicine’s still working, then.

The two of them stumble to their feet. Behind them, there’s little more than a now caved-in corridor, but ahead, there’s a brilliant, bright light – it seems to be beckoning them in, almost.

“So,” Trevor says slowly. “Are we going towards the light?”

“I don’t believe we have much choice.”

His mark burns hotter, the closer they come to the light. He has to modulate his breathing, lest it come high and fast. There’s little he can do, though, about the way his heart flutters wildly in his chest.

The hall they were in widens into something that reminds him of the cathedral in which he’d attended church as a child. Columns line the edges of the room, all leading towards an altar of sorts, he supposes. Some strange mechanism lines the back wall, and there, sitting almost innocently enough lies a coffin.

His blood runs cold.

Sypha had been right. There was someone sleeping beneath Gresit.

_A vampire_.

Slowly, the two of them approach the coffin.

Then Trevor’s foot sinks into the floor.

For a second, he thinks that the floor’s going to give out from under them _yet again_ and send them tumbling into god only knows what’s next. But, luckily or unluckily for him, that’s not what happens.

The coffin hisses. There’s the sound of metal grinding against metal, and then the coffin tips up. There’s the hiss of steam, and then the slides off and to the side, landing with a loud thud on the carpeted floor next to it.

His heart leaps up, hammers against his throat.

Someone’s there.

It’s a man, tall, fair-skinned. With a deceptively slender, yet muscular build. His hair – blonde, and pale like his skin – falls past his shoulders, obscuring his face with a curtain of what could be spun gold.

He’s also shirtless, which doesn’t help the thrum of heat that’s settled in his veins. Not even the nasty, red scar that bisects his chest takes away from the man’s ethereal beauty.

And that _really_ seals the deal, doesn’t it? Humans aren’t that god damn beautiful. Nor do they sleep in coffins.

His bloody soulmate’s a vampire. That figures. He was right, damn it.

He truly is damned.


	3. Chapter 3

_“My name is Adrian Tepes. Known to the Wallachians as Alucard... son of Vlad Dracula Tepes.”_

The name still burns against his skin. His blood is still humming in his veins and – _oh shit_. His cheeks turn red as he shifts uncomfortably, his trousers are _sticking_ to him. He really hopes that Sypha doesn’t notice, but she’s too busy speaking with Alucard about that story.

Trevor knows that there’s no hiding it from the vampire. He’ll easily be able to scent Trevor’s arousal.

_Shit_. It’s the last thing he needs, finding out that being pinned down, fangs at his throat is a _turn-on_ for him. If he’d thought himself damned before, he certainly is now.

And, frighteningly enough, he doesn’t care.

“You never did tell me your name,” Alucard says softly.

Aside from the scar across his chest, Alucard’s skin is flawless alabaster. There’s not a single soulmark on him, anywhere – so unless he’s hiding Trevor’s name under his pants… and no, that’s not a train of thought that Trevor can entertain, not now.

“... Trevor,” he answers, slowly. “Trevor Belmont.”

“So _you_ are the one…” Alucard murmurs, almost too softly for Trevor to hear.

But his senses are on high alert, already fine-tuning themselves to be perfectly aware of everything that the vampire does. The books he’d read as a child to prepare himself had spoken of such; that his body would attune, to better _please_ his mate. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, scents the vampire and imprints it into his memory.

Well, one thing’s for certain: he’ll never need to worry about losing Alucard in a crowd; the man easily stands several inches above him in height, and Trevor is considered quite tall by human standards.

Plus, there’s something purely… otherworldly about Alucard. He’s too noble, too regal, _too beautiful_ to be anything other than not-human. His gaze has Trevor locked in place; warm molten gold, and all Trevor wants to do is melt into it, to strip down and –

Sypha interrupts his musings, “We should make our way back to the surface, the horde will surely have come by now. We should save who we can.”

“I know a shortcut to the surface,” Alucard says, turning his gaze from Trevor at last. “Come.”

He rewinds his whip and replaces it at his hip. He falls into step just behind Alucard, feeling as though his voice is caught beneath the lump in his throat. He’d thought he’d been prepared for this, ready to reject them, push them away.

That’s not the case.

How could _he_ ever be worthy of such an ethereal being?

Trevor squashes that thought. Now’s not the time, not when demons are likely tearing the townspeople apart above them.

The thought of people being torn apart and eaten does nothing to change that he’s still wet with his own slick, that there’s an ache settling low into his stomach, or that there’s a smouldering burn setting in under his skin.

Alucard leads them through the winding halls, until he comes to a seeming dead end. He pauses, reaches out, and shoves aside a fragment of the ceiling the size of two men as though it was little more than a gossamer curtain.

And _that_ sends another spark of arousal shooting down Trevor’s spine. If he were to let his instincts have reign – and had Sypha not been there – he’d have stripped himself naked and thrown himself at Alucard without a moment’s thought or hesitation.

Of course, he’s more than his instincts. He’s been holding them in check for years, now isn’t any different. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Behind the rubble of the ceiling, is a… well, a contraption of some sort.

“The hell is that?”

“An elevator,” Alucard replies simply. He sees the confusion in their faces, “It operates by a mechanized pulley system; it will bring us to the level below the surface.”

The elevator, as Alucard calls it, is stuck a little bit above the floor they’re on. Alucard easily climbs onto the platform, reaching down to help Sypha climb up after him.

Jealousy burns, hot and bright and sudden, inside his chest. He clamps down it fiercely, shoves it aside, and then –

“Come.”

Alucard reaches down towards him, one elegant gloved hand extended down towards him.

He has to swallow back the jealous bile, reaches out a shaking hand, and chokes back a noise when Alucard’s hand closes gently around his own. He definitely can’t deny the fresh wave of slick that the gesture produces. There’s absolutely no way for him to deny that he’s aroused. He can only hope that Sypha cannot scent it.

Likely, he reeks of sweat and the pitch he used as a distraction in his escape. Yet, his scent is _definitely_ being noticed by the vampire.

There’s a slight, barely noticeable, curve of amusement to Alucard’s mouth, and his hand lingers longer than necessary as he pulls Trevor up and onto the platform; there’s the fluttering touch of a hand at the small of his back, right over the mark.

Trevor knows this, because his mark flares with a pleasurable heat.

He feels Alucard’s absence keenly when he pulls away to operate the machinery that will return them to the surface. Sypha is giving him a concerned look, and he just shrugs back at her. Hopefully, she’ll think he’s still feeling the effects of having been thrown across the room, and nothing more.

The elevator jerks, then begins to rise smoothly. As they rise, there are occasional peeks at the various floors – ones which he and Sypha had fallen through to find Alucard’s resting place.

“What is this place?” Sypha asks quietly. “Belmont thought it was Dracula’s castle, but it can’t be… can it?”

“No,” Alucard replies. “My… father gave this place to me as a gift. A stronghold, if you will, and a home for the family he hoped I would one day have. After we fought… it became a sanctuary. I had to make certain its defenses were in order before I slept, in case he chose to come after me and finish the job he began.”

“You know, that’s what’s been nagging at me,” Trevor interrupts. “Why would Dracula’s son want to stop him? Shouldn’t you be on board with the whole destroy humanity agenda?”

Alucard regards him sharply, thoughtfully, then responds, “I’m half-human. My mother… she was mortal; she would not have wanted this. And so, to honour her last wish, I stand opposed to my father.”

“I heard the stories. That Dracula wed a human woman. There were Speakers in Targoviste, when… when she died.”

Alucard nods, “She was his mate. The loss of her has driven him mad. There is no saving him from what has claimed him. He… is gone. My father, the man I knew, is gone. All that’s left is the rage, with which he lashes out at those he holds responsible.”

“Humans, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re fighting to save them.”

“That’s the plan.”

The elevator rumbles to a stop and its caged doors slide open, revealing a plain hall beyond, lined with a dusty red carpet. As they step from the elevator, more of those strange blue lights flicker to life to light their way.

Even though they’re below the city itself, he can still hear the sound of screams, of flesh being torn apart, and the shrieks of demons.

The horde has returned to Gresit.

 

 

 

It’s been quite some time since Trevor had to direct any sort of defensive force. The populace of Gresit are hardly the trained soldiers he’d been taught to lead, but he makes do.

What’s terribly distracting, though, is watching Alucard fight.

The man makes no secret of his supernatural nature. In one moment, he’s at Trevor’s left, the next at his right. It’s only Trevor’s heightened awareness of the man that allows him to keep track of his movements, and years of training that allow him to predict where he’ll land next.

Alucard’s presence, the sharp thrill of battle that hums in his veins… Trevor’s not entirely sure how he makes it through the battle, through the night. His whip cracks through the air, splitting one demon, then he spins and flicks it to split another. The demons explode, his whip’s consecrated nature proving true, and dealing with the demons better than any simple blade would.

It’s a long, hard night. Sweat sticks to his skin and, for a time, he’s able to lose himself in the thrum and rush of battle; forget what’s happened to him this day.

But… eventually the horde becomes little more than a trickle, and its survivors are now fleeing from _them_. Trevor and Alucard chase the dregs of the horde from the city, watch them fly and crawl over the walls and vanish into the desolate countryside beyond.

“Holy shit,” Trevor breathes, wiping blood and sweat from his brow with his sleeve and bracer. “We did it… we actually did it.”

His legs are shaking and he feels unsteady, euphoria at the thought that _they just might be able to pull this off_. The rush of battle’s still hammering through his veins, a hot pulse running down his spine _helpfully_ reminds him that his mate is close as well. Trevor shrugs that aside, gulps down air and wills the air to cool his overheated skin.

_Not now,_ he begs, _not now please_.

It’s a useless battle, and one that Trevor knows he’s destined to lose. But he ignores the thrumming of _want_ in him, glances to Alucard, who is flicking blood from that dangerously long, sharp sword of his, and then back towards the city centre.

“I owe you an apology.”

Trevor his whip and nearly leaps out of his own skin. He hadn’t heard Alucard approach.

“For what?”

“My earlier behaviour. What I said–”

“You were trying to get a rise out of me and it worked,” Trevor replies, shrugging and retrieving his whip from where he dropped it. “I get it. You wanted to test us; make sure we weren’t going to get our asses handed to us in the first five minutes.”

“Yes, but–”

“Look,” Trevor says, jabbing a finger in Alucard’s direction once his whip is back at his hip. He rather misses the familiar weight of his sword. “I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not going to fall apart just because you were an _ass_ ; I’m not made of glass. I don’t–”

Alucard catches his extended hand in his. Then proceeds to make Trevor’s brain completely slam to a halt as he holds it gently, bowing over it, and saying, “I was out of line. Can you forgive me?”

“Uh.” He has to clear his throat, feels how warm his cheeks are, and stutters out, “Y-yeah… alright, you are.”

There’s the slightest ghost of a smile on Alucard’s lips, “Thank you.”

Cool lips brush against his knuckles, and Trevor’s brain helpfully completely shuts down.

He’s absolutely fucked, he thinks, watching Alucard walk away, the rising sun causing his hair to glow as he does.

 

 

 

With the cresting of the sun on the horizon, Alucard retreats to the shelter of the inn. Or what remains of it. It piques his curiosity, and certainly does Sypha’s. But there’s bodies to be dealt with, the dead to be seen to, and defenses to be shored up.

Simply put, there’s much that drags Trevor’s attention away from Alucard, and he’s glad for it. Right then, the last thing he wants is to be alone with the man. He’s not sure if he can control himself, when all his body – and a good portion of _himself_ – wants is to throw himself at the man.

_Shit_. He’s fucking hopeless.

He tries not to let the doubts plague him too much. For although he may have Alucard’s name – both, he realizes dimly, he has _both_ names Alucard had given – upon his body, that it’s not a guarantee of being _wanted_ in return. He is, after all, little more than a _breeder whore_ , and Alucard is, what? Vampiric nobility?

Soulmarks are not a guarantee of loyalty or fidelity. He’s seen plenty of people unhappy with their matches, straying from their mates’ beds to find pleasure in another’s. If mates were so perfect, he thinks, then there’d be no need of whore houses.

Not that he’s ever been in one.

And it’s those thoughts and doubts that plague him while he retrieves the Speakers from where he had them hide within the catacombs. He finds them a wagon, with horses, and supplies enough to see them hopefully through to the next settlement. Sypha spends the time with her grandfather, her family, and begins the long, painful process of saying farewell to each of them.

Trevor ignores her, leaves her to it, and loads the wagon for the Speakers. Anything to distract himself from the thrum of desire in his veins, and the pain of knowing that he cannot have what he wants.

Sypha pokes his arm sharply, “Are you alright? You seem... preoccupied.”

“What?”

He snaps his gaze away from the dwindling silhouettes of the Speakers. Glances down to Sypha, who’s frowning and giving him a sharp look that he’s beginning to become all too familiar with.

“Distracted? Did something happen? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Trevor says sharply. “Just… I didn’t think we’d make it through the night. Didn’t think we’d land a victory.”

“Yes,” Sypha says slowly. “But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it? Did Alucard say something?”

He really hopes she doesn’t notice his twitch.

“No, he didn’t do anything.”

“If we’re going to be travelling together, we need to learn to _trust_ each other,” Sypha states. “Now’s not the time for secrets, Belmont. Whatever problem you have with him, sort it out. Before it gets us all hurt – or _killed_.”

He gapes at her, “It’s not… why are you being so serious?”

“Someone has to be, when they are surrounded by children.”

“I’m not a child!”

She pets his arm consolingly, “Of course you’re not.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alucard’s waiting for them when they return to the inn.

“I’m surprised,” Sypha says. “I thought that vampires burned in sunlight.”

“No, that’s correct. But I’m half-human – my mother… was mortal,” Alucard replies, voice growing softer as he speaks. He looks away as he says it, glares at the ground. “And so, I can at least _tolerate_ the sun for short periods of time.”

“That sounds like quite the story. Would you mind telling it sometime? I would very much love to hear how _that_ happened.”

Trevor’s heard of vampires and humans reproducing together before, though it’s quite rare. The children, if he remembers right, have an incredibly low chance of surviving to term; and usually are driven mad by their own dual nature. But beyond that and how to kill them, he knows little.

“Well see, when two people–”

“ _Belmont_.”

“What?”

“Be nice.”

“I _am_ being nice.”

“Then how come every story I’ve heard you tell has you arriving somewhere, only to be punched in the face?”

“That’s… because everyone else is a piece of shit.”

Alucard chuckles, softly, and it sends shivers of pleasure down Trevor’s spine.

“You’re impossible,” Sypha sighs. Crossing her arms, she squares her shoulders. “But that’s not what we came here to discuss. _We_ need to plan our next move.”

The inn’s tavern has been thoroughly looted and trashed, but there’s still a table and a handful of intact chairs. Though he pokes around behind the bar, there’s no drink to be had, and Trevor slunks back over to his chair and slumps into it. Today’s going to be a long day, and he’d rather face it with a drink in his belly.

“What would you like to know?” Alucard asks.

Despite that Alucard is his mate, Trevor’s still a little… uncomfortable taking any sort of information from a vampire. It just doesn’t feel natural. But that’s the Belmont in him talking; the rest of him is _very_ attentive to whatever it is that he’s saying.

Sypha hums thoughtfully, “We should expect another raid, shouldn’t we?”

“Not tonight. The horde won’t have expected to be repulsed and their numbers will need to be replenished. My concern would not be the horde itself, but who is commanding it.”

“Dracula?”

Alucard frowns, inclines his head, and continues softly, “Not… my father. His generals will be in charge of the day-to-day operations and they will know that the horde has been repulsed from Gresit and inform him of such. We will need to tread carefully in the next few days.”

“He has generals?”

“Of course.” And Alucard sounds as though they should _know_ this, as though it’s obvious. “The entirety of the night court will have been mobilized and sent to Wallachia to prosecute this… extinction order.”

“There’s a court?”

“Vampires have a hierarchy,” Trevor says. “The older and stronger a vampire is, the higher on that hierarchy they fall.”

“He’s correct. Vampire society has a hierarchy, with my – _Dracula_ at the top. He leads the vampire race and has for… well, for centuries – long before any of us were born.” Alucard’s face has a faraway look on his face, almost as though he’s reminiscing, “The vampire court hails from across the known world; vampires who control their own territories, who rule from the shadows. Old and powerful creatures of the night who are now in command of a horde of every nightmare you can possibly imagine.”

“Delightful,” Trevor grumbles. He wants to add _this couldn’t possibly get worse_ but he knows better. The constant thrum of heat under his skin is a reminder of that.

“Are you… familiar with the court, Alucard?” Sypha asks slowly.

“Not particularly,” Alucard responds. “Only what my father told me and what I was taught. There’s little I can tell you, unfortunately, beyond the basic structure and the politics.”

“Politics?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Alucard chides Trevor gently. “The night court is like any other, with its members jockeying for position and power.” He frowns thoughtfully, “I doubt that they have grasped, though, truly what madness has befallen my father.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Vampires do not keep human mates,” Alucard replies simply. “They turn them.”

It feels a little like his stomach has dropped out. Trevor shoves that aside, ignores the pit that feels as though it’s opened inside of him.

“But… your mother was. Human, that is.”

Alucard nods, “He could have turned her, but… I doubt he ever would have. To turn a human is to change them, and he loved her as she was. Had she but asked, he would have – there was nothing he wouldn’t have done for her.”

“He must have loved her very much,” Sypha says softly.

“We love deeply and passionately,” Alucard admits softly. “And we spend our lives always in search of our mate. And to lose them… is madness.”

 

 

 

Trevor’s not entirely sure, but at some point in the back and forth between Sypha and Alucard about the finer details of vampire court politics, he fell asleep. Really, it doesn’t surprise him that he did.

What _does_ surprise him is that he doesn’t wake up on the floor or slumped over and drooling on the table.

No, rather he wakes up in an actual _bed_. It’s nowhere near as comfortable as the bed of his childhood, but it’s far more luxurious than anything he’s encountered in _years_. And the scent…

It’s the scent that wakes him.

He sits up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

He nearly squeaks. And clutches what is definitely Alucard’s coat to his chest, as though that will somehow protect his modesty.

“Were you watching me sleep?!”

“Only for a little while,” Alucard admits. “There’s little else to do until the sun goes down. Does it bother you?”

“Not going to take a bite out of me, are you?”

Alucard’s eyes flash, whether in warning or desire, Trevor’s not sure.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Does that go for all humans or just me in particular?”

The words spill from his mouth without him thinking. But that desperate, small part of him is just _begging_ for approval from Alucard; for some word or sign that _you could want me as I want you_.

“You are my mate,” Alucard says simply. “You will always be of greater temptation to me than any other.”

He stares down at his hands, “You know about that, then.”

“How could I not? I have your name.” Alucard’s voice is soft, but his approach slow, and he comes to sit on the bed beside him almost hesitantly – as though afraid Trevor will push him away. “And I feel drawn to you. Despite your…” He wrinkles his nose, “ _Current_ rank stench, I can still scent you quite strongly.”

“And what do I smell like?”

Alucard’s nostrils flare sharply, and when he opens his mouth, there’s a hint of fang. His scent spikes and Trevor’s flares in response, a tremble shooting down his spine.

“Perhaps if you bathe,” Alucard says, at long last. “I will tell you.”

“That…”

“There’s no use hiding what you are, Trevor,” Alucard murmurs. “It’s quite obvious that you’re no alpha.”

He opens his mouth to respond, to tell Alucard that he’d been doing _just fine_ until now. That, until he came to Gresit, no one had known who or what he was. But –

Things happen very fast.

Glass tinkles as it shatters.

Alucard’s arm in front of his face, an arrow vibrating as it sinks into the flesh.

The door flies off its hinges. Alucard immediately puts himself – wounded arm and all – between Trevor and the door.

First through the door is that same grubby, bulky priest who had menaced him with a knife on his first day in Gresit. Honestly, Trevor is surprised; both by the fact that the man’s still alive _and_ that he hasn’t fled the city yet. Behind him, there are several more armed ‘priests’, two of whom he recognizes as those who had attempted to kill the Elder in an alley.

“You were told to be out of the city, _breeder_ ,” the leader spits.

Trevor scowls, but notices out of the corner of his eye how Alucard tenses at the slur. It’s subtle, but he shifts, making certain to keep his body between Trevor and the threat. Ridiculous alpha posturing, he thinks, but it _does_ send a pulse of warmth through him.

“Sorry,” Trevor replies, shrugging as he pushes himself up from the bed. “Things got a little hectic.”

In such a tight, enclosed space, he can’t use his whip. But he’s still got his daggers and a short sword that he’d picked up the night before. And… he casts a glance at Alucard. His sword leans casually against the wall, but that’s deceptive; he remembers it shooting to the other man’s hand with the slightest twitch of his finger.

Trying to shoulder past Alucard is a struggle and Trevor quickly gives up. The man’s an unmovable wall of muscle, eyes narrowed and glaring at the leader of the group who has so unceremoniously stormed in on the two of them.

“His excellency’s orders were clear. You were to leave the city by sundown. Or face the _consequences_.”

Trevor’s jaw clenches, “I’d rather slit my own throat than let any of _you bastards_ touch me.”

“You will not lay a hand on him nor raise a blade to him,” Alucard says. His voice is soft, deadly, like a freshly sharpened blade’s edge. “And should you try, I will cut you down.”

There’s a shiver of uneasiness that runs through the assembled men. And it strikes Trevor that Alucard’s eyes are an unnatural shade of gold, sharp and piercing, and they’re glaring daggers at the men before them – as though daring one to move and let him fulfill his threat.

“Y-you would defy the Bishop of Gresit?! He ordered that this excommunicant _whore_ ,” he jabs his blade in Trevor’s direction, “be–”

Trevor can only _barely_ follow the movement. But the instant he gestured at Trevor with that blade, Alucard had drawn his sword toward him and the man’s hand hits the ground, blood spurting from the stump where it once was attached.

“As I _said_ ,” Alucard continues, casually snapping the arrow still embedded in his arm, yanking it out and discarding it. “You will not raise a hand against him.”

“Fuck!”

“He _did_ warn you,” Trevor mutters. “Why don’t you get that seen to and we’ll be on our way?”

“Kill the bastard! Do what you want with the whore, but _make him suffer_!”

An arm loops around his waist and then–

He’s shooting backwards, out through one of the windows and then he’s _falling_ towards the streets below. He braces for a hard impact, prepared to roll with it and absorb it, just as he was taught, but the impact never comes.

Alucard lands lightly on the stone street, with a soft click as his boots make contact. His face is a sharp mask, his scent hot and pulsing with anger.

Once Trevor’s back on his feet, Alucard’s arm slips from around him, taking his hand in his, “Can you keep up?”

“Yeah, but–”

The words are jerked from his mouth as they take off, winding through the streets at breakneck pace.

Trevor loses track of how many streets they pass through, how many turns they make. His lungs, though, are burning with exertion by the time that Alucard comes to a gradual stop. Much to his chagrin, the man’s not even winded.

Panting, Trevor glances at Alucard, “What was that about?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! _You_ were posturing.”

“You are my mate. Is it somehow _wrong_ for me to defend you?”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

Alucard snorts, “You don’t have to. And I would do it again; you have an alarming habit, it seems, of running your mouth.”

“I do n–”

It’s brief. Alucard’s lips are cool against his. It’s less a kiss than a brush of lips, but it shuts him up quick enough.

When he pulls back, there’s that familiar ghost of a smile on Alucard’s lips, “Well, at least that shut you up.”

His cheeks flush as his blood rushes distinctly south, “Fuck off.”

“Not a chance,” Alucard murmurs, a thumb stroking along the edge of his jaw. “I intend to win you, Trevor Belmont. I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulls back and away from Trevor, who feels the sudden absence keenly. Though he shoots a sharp glare at Alucard, it’s absent of heat. There’s a flush of… _something_ inside of him and, for once, it’s not desire.

He’d never thought of himself as something worth _winning_ before.

 

 

 

Sypha finds them. She’s out of breath, dust and soot in her hair.

“What happened?”

“The bishop’s not too happy that I’m still around,” Trevor replies, shrugging. “He sent his thugs after me.”

“Well, that explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” Alucard asks.

“One of the… priests, if that’s what you would call them, came around. He tried to take me, but several of the townsfolk stopped him – he’s dead in the square, a knife in his back.” She looks between the both of them, “What should we do?”

“He started this fight,” Trevor says. “I say, we take it to him.”


	5. Interlude

For a year, he sleeps.

He does not dream. There is the simple passage of time. Instead, he remembers.

The ash upon his tongue, the heat of the flame, his mother’s choking breaths. And her pleading to him, to his father.

_Be better than them_ , she had begged. _Be better than them._

Her screams echo in his head. The acrid scent of burning flesh. The priests chanting. The sight of the cathedral lit up with his mother’s funeral pyre.

And he had stood there, unable to do anything to stop it. To help her. He cannot remember a time he felt so powerless.

He understands his father’s anger. The urge and the need to lash out, to take revenge upon the world that so harshly took her from them.

_Be better than them_.

His mother wouldn’t want this.

 

 

 

It’s not the first time that he’s tasted ash.

 

 

 

Frequently, his father would leave his mother and him to travel, to see the world, to see how it had changed. And as he himself grew, he found himself with something of the same wanderlust; a yearning to see what was out in the world, beyond the castle, beyond the small human village.

He wanted to find what his parents had.

His mother had his father’s name, in an elegant old hand spiralling down her spine. It had peeked out when she pulled her hair up as she worked, marking her as being his father’s, as assuredly as he was hers.

Humans have such marks, he learns. Their mate’s name written somewhere across their body. But he is only half-human. His mother worries about him, whether he will have a mark like she does, or if he will take more after his father.

The mark is very faint, his human blood proving true. Inscribed along the inside of his left thigh is his mate’s name.

_Trevor Belmont_.

He runs his fingers along it absently, taking comfort in its presence. It’s smooth against the skin, no raised edges, and only visible to any but the sharpest of eyes – or a close inspection.

“I have a mark, mother.”

He waits to tell her till he’s older, when his father is abroad on one of his many trips. For although his father loves he and his mother dearly, he has never been able to shake the millennia of disdain for humanity – the Belmonts in particular.

His mother’s face lights up, with happiness and perhaps a trace of relief, “That’s wonderful! Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

And she folds him into one of those embraces that are so much bigger than she is. He holds her back, unable to stop a shy smile.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense!” She’s still beaming, “Unless you plan to surprise me.”

“Perhaps I should find them first, mother?” His smile cracks a little, “After all, they may not want me.”

“Nonsense! You’re a handsome young man, any omega would be thrilled to be the recipient of your affections, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, mother.”

She smiles at him, a little sadness in her face, “You know, I knew this day would come. I just… I had hoped it would not come so soon.”

He embraces her again, gives her his best reassuring smile, “I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be fine, don’t you worry.”

It’s the last conversation they share.

 

 

 

He first tastes ash when he arrives at the old, abandoned Belmont estate.

It’s long since been burned to the ground. But a film of ash clings to its wreckage, to the twisting fingers of burnt trees. He can see remnants of what once were outbuildings, a large tree that children must have once played in within the grounds.

Any scents that might have once been present have long since faded, washed away by the turning of the seasons and the passage of time.

The village some ways down the road is a better source of information.

“The Belmonts dealt in black magic. The church dealt with them, put them and their house to the flame.”

“It was obvious what they were. Didn’t you know? Their last son was… well, they say he was the devil’s whore.”

An elderly lady stops him with a gentle hand, “Not from around here, are you, lad?”

“No, I was… passing through.”

“You won’t hear favourable things about the Belmonts from the younger folk in town,” she says softly. “But if you’ve got time for a drink, I may have a story or two to tell.”

“Thank you.”

Her home is small, on the outskirts of the village, and more than a little rundown. But the inside is comfortable and lived in, she bids him make himself at home at her small table, and returns with drink and a little bit of bread and cheese.

“Many forget what life was like here, before the Belmonts came,” she says. “Plagued by demons and all other creatures of the night, we were. My mama, she passed down the stories of what life was like before the Belmonts came – as did hers before her.”

“I understand that they were… put to the stake.”

“Aye, the lot of them were,” she replies, sadness in her voice. “Excommunicated from the church and burned as heretics – even the women and children were not spared.” She shifts in her chair, stares out the window, “‘Course, it didn’t help that there was, well, talk. Their youngest – he wasn’t born like the others.”

“What do you mean?”

“An omega, he was,” she says, sipping at her drink. “The church said it was a sign that the family had fallen from God’s grace. But such men are born to family’s with potent bloodlines; the church simply wanted their lands and wealth, for the Belmonts had plenty of both. It’s unfortunate he was born when he was – lovely young lad he was, he’d be about your age now, I’d wager.”

“I’m younger than I look,” he responds. There’s a tinge of sadness, “So they all died, then?”

“Well, if you believe the church, then they did. Talk though, after, was that at least one of their lot survived. There’d been sightings of a boy in the wreckage and countryside after. This was some years ago, now. He’s likely long since moved on.”

“Thank you.”

She cocks her head to the side, “You know, you never did tell me your name.”

“Adrian. Adrian Tepes.”

 

 

 

He has had much time to come to terms that his mate is his mortal enemy.

Growing up, his father had told him of the gruesome, terrifying deeds that the Belmonts were capable of. That they wielded the Morning Star itself, and struck vampires down wherever they found them. That they were the only humans vampires truly feared, and rightly so. That a Belmont would sooner die, than let a vampire survive.

And yet…

Hadn’t his father always detested humans? Yet he loved his mother, mated her even, gave her every gift and taught her every secret he knew. He’d had a child with her – something almost unheard of within vampire society.

And he had not turned her.

Perhaps his mate is the black sheep of the Belmonts. Perhaps he can find him before too much of that old hatred can seep in, prove himself more than what his bloodline says he is.

He can only hope.

The world cannot be that cruel, he thinks.

He was wrong.

 

 

 

The wound had ached, had bled. His only choice had been to flee.

Once, his father had gifted him the keep beneath Gresit as his home – to share with his mate, once he found them. _One must provide for their mate_ , his father had said. His mother had laughed, and added, _Home is wherever you are, it’s not a place or a thing_.

Now, though, it’s become a fortress.

He activates the keep’s defenses with the last of his energy.

And then falls into a deep sleep within its depths.

 

 

 

He’s asleep. And then he’s not.

 

 

 

He knows from the moment that he inhales the Belmont’s scent that _this is the one_. Even without pinning him down, baring his fangs against his neck, he’d _known_. The instant that Belmont’s scent had spiked as they fought, he’d _known_.

Sweet and rich, like the finest wine. It fills his nostrils and nearly intoxicates him with its intensity; it very nearly sends him to his knees. But he resists. Now is not the time to be going soft, not when his father’s horde is loose upon the land and the spectre of what must be done looming in his mind.

He cannot let his mate walk into it unprepared.

True, the story stated that the Soldier would be met by a scholar and a hunter. A Belmont would be obvious. That his mate is the one who comes… complicates matters.

Losing his mother, their bond shattered, had driven his father mad. And, as he well knows, such a fate could bely him – should his own fall in pursuit of their goal. That vein of madness – of instability – lies within all vampires.

He wonders, when he gives his names, which it is that marks Trevor Belmont’s skin. The name given to him by his mother upon his birth? The one gifted to him by her people? A part of him is terrified to find out.

 

 

 

He’s grateful for the Speaker’s interference. Not only because it proves her strength, but because it stops him before he could lose control of himself.

Despite how Trevor has chosen to disguise himself with a truly impressive rank stench, underneath it lies a sweet, rich scent that tempts him more than anything else. _Taste me_ , it calls, _take me for I am yours_.

Yet he resists, pulls away, with the taste of his mate’s scent in his mouth.

He knows better than to take what’s not offered.

He is patient. He can wait.


	6. Chapter 6

The townsfolk seem to be of two minds. There are those who believe the bishop to be infallible and that Trevor’s continued presence in the city means that the horde will come again. But then there are those who survived the night _because_ of him, Sypha, and Alucard. Those are more numerous. And louder.

It does not change that all live in fear of what the bishop might do, should they stand up to him and his men.

Before they reach Gresit’s cathedral, Trevor hesitates. Then, decision made, he gently reaches out and catches Alucard’s wrist in his – ignores the little shocks that shoot up his arm from the contact.

Alucard stops immediately, turns to face him, “Something wrong?”

And he sounds so _concerned_ that it makes Trevor tremble. He has to shake himself out of it; now’s not the time. Not when…

“There’s something you need to know,” he says. “The bishop… he’s the one who… who had your mother burned.”

Tension hangs, sudden and tight in the air. Alucard is ramrod straight, stiffer than a corpse, and his eyes are a golden blaze. His mouth is a tight, thin line, one hand tightened to what has to be the point of pain about the scabbard of his blade.

“You deserved to know,” Trevor continues softly. When Alucard tries to pull his hand back, there’s a spike of fear that stabs through him. He takes it back, in both of his, practically clings to it. “Don’t do anything reckless. _Please_.”

The words tumble from his mouth, almost unbidden. He cannot take them back now.

Not that he wants to.

Alucard says nothing, but stares at their hands. Several long minutes pass, in which Trevor’s pulse thrums heavily in his ears. But, eventually, Alucard moves.

His touch is almost deceptively soft and gentle, entwining his fingers with Trevor’s and then bringing them to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back of Trevor’s hand.

“If that is your wish, then you have my word.”

“Thank you.”

_I’ve only just found you, don’t make me lose you_.

He gives himself a sharp mental shake. Now’s not the time to be getting sentimental. But Alucard certainly knows how to make it hard when he acts all… gentlemanly. And sweet.

Distantly, Trevor realizes just how fucked he is. That, too, he shoves aside, to dwell upon at a later time. It had been easier when Alucard had just been hypothetical, simply a name and not a living, breathing being that has been thrust into his life.

It was easier to pretend he could just walk away, then. Now… now it’s complicated.

Sypha returns, eyebrows up, and then, “Oh, I see how it is.”

Trevor flushes and jerks ramrod straight, but Alucard’s got a firm grip on his hand, “Um…”

“So articulate,” Alucard says softly.

“... shut up.”

Making their way through Gresit undetected isn’t as difficult as it could have been. The townsfolk are making themselves scarce, but what surprises Trevor is that the bishop apparently has a _lot_ more men at his disposal than he first thought. The entire city seems to be _swarming_ with them.

Their plans become more apparent when they reach the end of one of the alleys that spills out to the churchyard.

Though rudimentary, Trevor recognizes what stands before it.

A stake.

A shot of cold runs down his spine. Behind his eyes, inside his head, he can hear the screams of his parents, his sisters, his brother – his nieces and nephews. His parents had been dragged out to be made examples of; the others burned alive when they set fire to the manor.

And him, helpless to do anything but watch.

The bishop stands, haughty and full of himself, near the edge of the churchyard. The hems of his robes are stained with blood.

“Sypha,” Trevor says. “Can you get to the roof? Provide cover if necessary. We’re going to need it if we’re to make a clean getaway.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Dunno. Confront him? Maybe break his nose?”

The look she gives him is one that completely unimpressed with his answer.

He sighs, “Alright, we’re going to get the truth out. The people… deserve to know who is _really_ to blame.”

“Very well.”

Sypha vanishes, disappearing into a doorway as she makes her way to the rooftops.

Very carefully, knowing full well they are likely walking into a trap, Trevor and Alucard make their way towards the waiting bishop.

His lip curls in disgust when he sees them, “You were warned, _breeder_.”

Beside him, Alucard tenses, “You…”

“And who have you corrupted now with your wicked wiles?” His gaze shifts to Alucard, and it’s as though the blood drains from his face, “No… it cannot be…”

The men that surround them are cautious, giving the both of them a wide berth. Clearly, they’ve heard the stories the townsfolk have been telling about their various deeds from the night before. Not to mention what Trevor did to a number of them. And so, they surround them in a large circle, closing off escape.

“Speak, devil!” the bishop snaps.

“I am Alucard,” Alucard says, voice carrying easily. “Son of Lisa Tepes of Lupu.”

“The _witch’s_ bastard and a devil’s bride,” the bishop hisses. “What manner of corruption have you brought to our fair city, _breeder_?”

“He is no ‘breeder’,” Alucard spits. “But an omega. And you should afford him the respect that he deserves.”

Trevor shrugs, “Doesn’t matter what you call me. _I’m_ not the one that brought the horde down upon Wallachia, am I now?”

The bishop’s face twists, “I did what was _necessary_ ; what was _good_. God does not suffer a witch to live.”

“She was no witch! She was a doctor! A woman of peace and healing!”

“ _You_ would speak to me of peace?! You, who would defend and stand beside a _breeder whore_?! What would _you_ know of peace?!”

It’s a little disconcerting, just how quickly Alucard can move.

His blade is level with the bishop’s throat, the tip resting dangerously near the man’s collar.

“Aluc–”

“You _killed_ my mother,” Alucard hisses. “It was _you_ who brought Dracula’s horde down upon the land in retribution, yet you speak to me of _peace_?”

“Sh-she was a witch! A practitioner of black magic!”

One of them makes a move to grab Alucard. He ends up with a boot to the back of his knee and a knife in his hand. Trevor retrieves it casually, flicking blood from it, and turning to the assembled crowd with a half-smile.

“Sorry, but this is between the two of them. If you’d like to dance, I’d be happy to give you a turn. If you think you can keep up.”

The men hesitate, there are whispers passing through their ranks. Townsfolk have begun to gather at the edges of the churchyard.

“Admit it.” Alucard’s hands are taut on the hilt of his blade, both hands, not the one he had tauntingly used when fighting Trevor below Gresit. “Admit what you have done, and _perhaps_ I will let you live.”

The bishop’s eyes shift from Alucard to Trevor, as though _Trevor_ will intervene on his behalf.

Trevor just shrugs, “I’m just a ‘breeder whore’, don’t look to me.”

There’s a shiver in the assembled audience, people talking and whispering amongst themselves. Chief among their whispers is that the Sleeping Soldier has returned to save them, and wondering at what the _bishop_ has done to cause his ire.

Alucard shifts his grip just slightly, the blade digging into flesh slightly and a single drop of blood spills from the wound.

“ _Confess_.”

He casually twirls his knife, watching the scene with interest. It’s a war between the bishop’s pride and his own desire to survive.

The latter wins out.

“ _I_ burned the witch, Lisa Tepes, in Targoviste one year ago! The devil, Dracula, appeared from the flames of her pyre! And claimed that he would bring his vengeance upon the land in one year! A punishment for us having suffered a witch in our midst, for the faithful turning their backs upon God, for them turning to the likes of you _Belmonts_ –”

The bishop flies through the air. Blood blossoming from his nose. He hits the ground with a muffled thud.

Alucard casually re-sheathes his blade and turns away, the line of his shoulders tense. “We’re done here.”

Trevor blinks, taken aback, stumbles a little, then says, “What–”

But Alucard’s already striding through the crowd, which parts before him. “Leave him for the people to deal with. Let his punishment be decided by them.”

“What are you doing?! Get them!”

But no one moves.

Except Trevor, who has to jog a little to catch up with Alucard and his long strides.

Sypha rejoins them once they re-enter the city proper, “You didn’t need me after all.”

“Yeah, well, I was expecting it to be a little bit messier than that.” He hesitates, “We can’t stay here much longer; there’ll be those wanting retribution. We need to move, then we can plan our next move.”

“I’ve made arrangements. There’s a covered cart with provisions waiting near the city gate for us.”

“Prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“I was quite certain we would need to make a quick escape,” Sypha replies. “Hence, I made the arrangements as quickly as possible. There are those who are grateful for what we have done, that is enough.”

 

 

 

The city of Gresit is silhouetted by the setting sun as they leave.

Though it will be dangerous to travel at night, they should put as much space between themselves and the city as possible. Sypha takes the reigns of their little cart, and nudges Trevor until he gets the message and climbs into the back to sit with Alucard.

“Go,” she says. “He needs you now.”

Truly, Trevor has no idea what to say.

He settles next to Alucard, hands in his lap, with his voice stuck in his throat.

“My mother begged that we be better than them,” Alucard says softly, breaking the silence. “Those were her last words: Be better than them.”

He bites his lip, then gently lays a hand over Alucard’s, “You’re a braver man than I.”

“No,” Alucard replies, turning to face Trevor. And his eyes are glittering in the fading light, lashes impossible long and dark against pale skin. “That sentiment still belongs to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything,” Alucard says, reaching up and brushing back a stubborn lock of Trevor’s hair, only for it to fall back once again. “You make me feel… human.”

“That sounds awful, to be honest.”

Alucard covers his mouth with his hand, muffling his laughter.

 

 

 

They make camp long after the sun has gone down.

Trevor gathers enough wood for a small fire, which Sypha starts with a spark of her magic. Alucard watches them both, though it feels as though he _isn’t_ seeing them; he seems to be somewhere else completely.

Supper is a simple affair. Both Trevor and Sypha are used to the rough conditions of the road, though it’s somewhat new to Trevor to have more than what he can carry and hunt at hand. Though he’s offered a portion of their stew, Alucard politely declines.

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, do you not eat?” Sypha asks, blinking her wide blue eyes.

“I do,” Alucard replies. “But I require far less than you both. I slept for a year, I’ll be fine.”

Trevor stops himself before he can rub the side of his neck. He still remembers the sensation of Alucard’s fangs bared against his throat, the undeniable _hunger_ that had burned in his eyes. A half-vampire is still a vampire.

“If you don’t mind… would you tell the story of how your mother met your father? I’ve been curious to know how Dracula fell for a human woman.”

Alucard looks thoughtfully into the distance, “No… I don’t mind.

“My mother was… how to describe her? She sought the castle out because she wanted to be a doctor. She had heard the rumours and stories about my father – that he possessed untold ancient knowledge and lived in a moving castle.”

Sypha looks to be almost vibrating with questions, but holds her tongue.

“Wait, _Dracula_ taught a human woman to be a doctor?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Alucard says. “He was a man of learning, of science. And in my mother he found a kindred spirit – someone who wanted to understand how the world works. All she wanted… was to learn to heal people, to help others. I idolized her and my father… he adored her. She made the world worth tolerating.”

“Was she…?”

“She was his mate, yes.” He pauses, eyes lingering on Trevor, “He would have given her the world, had she asked for it. But she was his and that was enough.”

“I didn’t think that vampires took mates the way that… that we do.”

“Not in the way that humans do, no,” Alucard answers slowly. “My father’s life and sanity were bound to my mother’s. When she died… he ceased to be. All of this is little more than a madman lashing out, trying to take as many humans down with him as he can.”

“... I see.”

 

 

 

Trevor volunteers to take the first watch.

Sypha retreats to the wagon to sleep, since the ground is frozen and covered with snow, leaving him alone with Alucard once more.

“You should rest as well.”

Trevor shrugs, “Too much on my mind to think of sleeping now.”

He’d noticed it before, in the tavern and when they were close in the alley, but the wound that Alucard’s father dealt him is still a vivid, bright red line across his skin. It’s strange, for the wounds that Trevor dealt him – with his consecrated whip, no less – healed almost instantaneously.

He flushes when Alucard smirks at him. He’s been caught.

“Do you like what you see?”

“Why hasn’t that wound healed?”

Alucard blinks, slowly pressing a hand against his chest, over the scar. “... when I confronted my father, I had not fed in some time. Then, there was little I could do. I have not fed since.”

“So you do need blood.”

“An unfortunate circumstance of my birth, yes,” Alucard replies. “If it bothers you, I can hunt later. Animals will do.”

“But they’re not your preference.”

“I will survive, if that’s what worries you.”

“You’d rather feed from _me_ , though, wouldn’t you?”

Alucard sucks in a breath, having suddenly gone stiff. His voice is sharp when he replies, “Be careful what you offer, Trevor.”

“But I _am_ offering, that is.” His hand’s trembling as he reaches out, lightly touching the scar that marrs Alucard’s chest. “If I feed you, will you heal?”

“I will,” Alucard replies softly. “But you should not make an offer so lightly, Trevor. Do you know what it means to share your blood with a vampire? With the one who is your mate?”

“No, but I get the feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“I will desire none but you; no other blood will slake my thirst. I will crave you, Trevor, until I can possess you completely.” He pauses, then adds, “And I will know your soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever worry that you're moving things too fast? Because I do.


	7. Chapter 7

He swallows, a lump in his throat.

“... my soul?”

The two of them are so close, that he can feel the brush of Alucard’s breath against his lips.

“Your memories,” Alucard continues quietly. “Your thoughts, your emotions… I would know _you_.”

His heart thuds heavily in his chest, a sense of dread settling and curdling inside of him. Because whatever it is that’s motivating Alucard, he knows that could shatter so easily if he knows all of the dark places inside of him. Then there’s an ache in his chest, in his heart, to think that Alucard could _reject_ him; may not want him if he does this.

“I would understand if you want to rescind your offer, knowing this. There would be no coming back from this – it would begin to create a bond between us, a step towards a full claim.”

_Claim_.

If he’s honest, Trevor’s never given much thought to the idea of being _claimed_. Without his family, he has no dowry to offer, no lands or status to give, but, at the same time, he brings with him a dark history. He’s nothing but an excommunicant heretic – a _breeder whore_ , as the bishop had called him – he doesn’t bring anything of value to a mate.

“And would you want that?” Trevor asks, his voice trembling. “If I said yes, would you?”

Alucard’s pupils are blown wide, leaving little but a bright ring of gold around the black.

“I have wanted you since I first scented you. As I have wanted no other before, and I will want no other.”

Slowly, as though Trevor’s little more than an animal that might start – which isn’t so far from the truth – Alucard leans in, and brushes his lips against Trevor’s. It’s hardly a kiss, but it sets Trevor’s heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

And he wants _more_.

The fear coiled at his centre won’t go away easily, it clings to him and threatens to drag him down at every instance. But it can’t change the desire, the yearning, that he _wants_ this as he’s wanted nothing else. His eyes stray back to the scar maring Alucard’s chest, his fingers skirt along its edge and, so close, he can hear the way that Alucard’s breath hitches in response.

If this is all a lie, it’s a damn good one.

_Would you want me if you knew the truth?_

The question haunts his thoughts. And he wonders if it’s wrong to consider this a test. He _wants_ Alucard to prove him wrong, to stay when everyone has left – to want _him_ when no one else has ever seen something of worth. It’s a cruel thought, he knows, but he _needs_ Alucard to prove to him that this is _more_ – that this is _real_.

His skin feels tight. There’s a hum in his veins that he recognizes well. And he feels warm. Too warm.

Despite the ice shards lodged in his stomach, the doubt that threatens to creep in if he thinks too much on what he’s about to do, there’s no tremble to his hand when he reaches up to push the heavy fur of his cloak back. The chill of a cold Wallachian night seeps in, raising gooseflesh along the exposed skin, but Trevor doesn’t care, tugging his collar open and aside to reveal the column of his neck.

God, but if his parents and ancestors could see him now. Willingly offering his blood to one of the very creatures they were raised to hate and hunt. Some blessing he turned out to be.

None of that matters, though. Not anymore.

He tips his head to the side, “My blood is yours.”

Alucard shivers when he says those words, brushes another featherlight kiss across Trevor’s lips, “As mine is yours.”

His mouth trails a line of heat along Trevor’s jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck.

Trevor makes a choked noise, mindful of Sypha asleep in the wagon not too far away. He tips his head further to the side, offering up more access and skin to Alucard. His pulse hammers loudly in his ears.

Even though he’s expecting it, it’s nothing like he thought it would be.

There’s the slight prick of pain as fangs pierce through his flesh, and the strange feeling of his blood being pulled from him, in time with the beating of his heart.

His entire mind goes white with pleasure.

It’s… it’s like the best orgasm of his life, only it lasts far longer. His body shivers, arches towards Alucard, and he grips his arms tightly.

“A… Adrian…”

If he was more aware, he’d likely be ashamed of how shattered and breathless he sounds. As it is, he’s too blissed out to care.

It’s over far too soon.

Alucard pulls away, gently licking at the wound to close it, and his mouth is still stained red with Trevor’s blood. His eyes – always so bright and unnatural – seem to glow with renewed energy. And there’s something unreadable in his gaze, as though he’s not quite there in that moment.

His neck aches, reminding him of what they’ve just done.

He wonders what his blood has shown Alucard.

It’s with more than a little hesitancy that he leans in, gently kisses the corner of Alucard’s mouth and licks up the last of his blood. His blood is still warm, leaving the strong taste of iron upon his tongue.

That seems to startle Alucard out of wherever Trevor’s blood has taken him. His eyes are wide and, once more, seem to be glittering in the light from the fire. But before Trevor can ask anything of him – what he might have seen or experienced – he ducks his head into Trevor’s neck and gathers him close, holding him tightly, as though he might break.

Something tight in Trevor’s chest seems to come unwound. Despite the confusion, the worry, pulsing through him, he feels… oddly at ease. And sleepy. He’s unsure if that’s relief or a consequence of the bite.

The two of them stay like for a long time, locked in an embrace, and Trevor begins to drift a little.

He remembers his mother’s soft smile, his father’s voice. Remembers the fear when he’d awakened and how they had told him how proud they were, what a blessing he was – how he revealed how fertile their family’s blood is.

“You are a blessing,” Alucard murmurs against his neck, breaking the silence. He kisses the bite, which makes Trevor shiver in response. He pulls back and smiles softly – one that actually reaches his eyes, which look like warm, molten amber – kissing Trevor gently once more. “If I have to spend my entire life telling you such for you to believe it, I will.”

Trevor laughs, a little nervously, “You sound so sure of that.”

“That I’d like to spend my life with you?”

“Yeah,” Trevor swallows hard.

“Oh Trevor.” Alucard makes a sound that sounds a bit like a laugh and a sigh, “I’m not going to leave you. Not without one _hell_ of a fight – of that, you have my word.”

 

 

 

The two of them remain entwined with each other until the first light of dawn begins to lick at the sky, tendrils of grey bleeding into the black.

Alucard spent much of it petting Trevor’s hair gently, peppering his face and neck with kisses, and speaking in a soft, comforting voice. Trevor had long since thought himself beyond the comfort of such gestures, but when they do pull apart – when Sypha begins to stir – he feels… oddly at ease.

In fact, he’s enough at ease to steal a quick kiss, nipping at Alucard’s bottom lip as he pulls away.

There’s still sleep clinging to Sypha’s eyes as she climbs stiffly from the wagon to join them for a quick breakfast.

“No trouble?”

Trevor resists the urge to press a hand to where Alucard bit him. He shrugs instead, ignoring the way his neck’s still tingling, “Nothing out of the ordinary. It was… quiet.”

“Was it right?” Sypha asks softly. “For us to leave like that? Won’t they face retribution?”

“No more than they already have,” Alucard responds. “They will have spies in the city who will inform them of what happened – and we didn’t slay all of the horde which did attack. Those that survived will bring word of us to their masters.”

“These… generals, yes?”

Alucard nods, “They will want to divert resources to deal with us – take out the resistance and make it easier for them to continue with their goals. Whatever they believe those to be.”

“That’s been bothering me,” Trevor says, absently stirring his leftover stew around the bowl. “You said that there’s a vampire court. Wouldn’t they have a problem with the entire wanton slaughter of the human race?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that they would. It will take time, but they will eventually begin to grasp just what madness has gripped my father. At present, we’re in danger because they are united – once they realize what has happened… they will begin to fracture and argue amongst themselves, and plot against each other.”

“Will that have any effect on the hordes?”

“It might affect their numbers and strength – they’ll lack strategy and cohesion. Right now, they’re content to simply terrify the population but, soon, they will start looking to… coral the human populace for their own purposes.”

Sypha makes a thoughtful noise, stares at the fire, then says slowly, “You said that Dracula is the head, so to speak, of the court. _If_ we are successful in our mission, what do you think will happen? Who will his ‘throne’ fall to?”

“Do vampires follow any logical rule of succession?”

“My… family is the most powerful at present,” Alucard says softly. “By normal standards of inheritance, it would fall to me. There are those, though, who would not be pleased by a… _half-breed_ taking leadership.”

Trevor nearly chokes. He fed _vampire royalty_ the night before. Just how screwed is he?

“But that’s not a guarantee. Would you even want to?”

“Not particularly. Other vampires have made it clear how they feel about my being half-human – many are so old that they fail to perceive humans as sentient beings. They view humans the same way you would view a chicken or a cow – as little more than ‘livestock’.”

“That…”

“Vampires aren’t like you or I, Sypha,” Trevor says, scowling at his food. “We’re mortal; we live, we die. They don’t. It’s that simple; it’s why my family hunted them. Especially when they decide that bathing in the blood of the innocent is so appealing; wanton cruelty is a vampire trait.”

“But not exclusive to vampires,” Sypha says softly.

“No,” Trevor admits, dumping the remains of his breakfast on the fire to snuff it out. “It’s not.”


	8. Chapter 8

Though Trevor begins the day wide awake, it doesn’t take him long before he the toll of the bite and subsequent feeding strikes. His head drops to Alucard’s shoulder and his breathing gradually evens out, making soft snuffling noises every now and again.

It’s oddly endearing, and Alucard had never thought he would ever _enjoy_ the sound of snoring.

Sypha takes the reigns of their wagon, beginning the long journey to whatever town or city they come across first. The countryside is… oddly peaceful; birds sing and chirp, there’s the rustle of wind through the bare trees, and the occasional deer can be spotted or heard amongst the undergrowth.

It reminds him a little of when his family lived on the outskirts of his mother’s village, Lupu. It hadn’t been uncommon for deer to wander through his mother’s herb gardens, occasionally coming to the windows of the house. His mother had encouraged it, leaving out an occasional bit of food for them.

And it brings to mind different memories. Ones that aren’t his.

The thrill of the hunt. Of riding through the trees in pursuit of a deer, or siblings. It’s a strange, alien feeling, to have memories and emotions float through him that are _not his_ but that he has experienced as though they were all the same.

Absently, he raises a hand to his lips, remembering the heat and taste of Trevor’s blood on his tongue. Impossibly rich, with a trace of sweetness, but accompanied by the sharp tang of alcohol, even though Trevor hadn’t drank any in some time. The compulsion had been there, though.

His heart aches, to think of how it’s become _habit_ for Trevor to try and drown himself in drink. As though he cannot function without alcohol pulsing through his veins, dulling his senses and drowning out the memories.

But…

Alucard’s world had fallen apart when his mother was taken and burned at the stake as a witch. His father had, effectively, died in the same instant as her; the ash had tasted bitter upon his tongue, her screams and cries echoing in his head even as he slept.

Trevor had witnessed the same; had been impossibly young when his family had burned. His parents dragged from the house to be made an example of, the rest of his family barricaded within as the manor was set fire to. The ash and heat had been choking.

It had been luck that he had survived. Luck which had, in Trevor’s mind, proven to be a curse. He was the last of his line, all that remained of a once proud family and – what had he become? Little more than a broken, drunken shell of a man.

Years of attempting to live up to the family’s expectations, their legacy. And he felt that he had failed them, all of them.

It hadn’t, though, despite Trevor’s beliefs and feelings, completely broken him.

At least, Alucard doesn’t think so. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so kind – though Trevor would deny it vehemently – even though that kindness is hidden behind a gruff, uncaring exterior. Trevor tries not to care, but does deeply; his family’s history weighs heavily on him, not to mention his own innately kind self. He’d deny it, Alucard knows, but it’s the truth.

He wouldn’t have saved Sypha if he wasn’t; would not have stepped in to save her grandfather, and would not have felt the betrayal of the common people so deeply if that were not the case.

That Trevor Belmont believes himself undeserving of love is, having shared the man’s blood, quite obvious.

If the fate of humanity weren’t at stake, if he had all the time in the world – which, hopefully, he will – he would spend it all showing Trevor just how _deserving_ of love he is. Though Trevor would hate him for it, would never forgive him, Alucard would lay down his life for him if it comes to it – though he would make sure to do as much damage as possible as he went down.

Absently, he reaches out and brushes back some of Trevor’s hair, that one stubborn lock that’s always falling into his face. He’s still a little too pale for Alucard’s liking and he still smells strongly of alcohol, sweat, and vomit – and faintly like a sewer. It’s not at _all_ appealing, but Alucard can smell, underneath, the rich sweetness that is his natural scent.

Hopefully, there will be an inn in the near future. And, if he’s lucky, he can convince Trevor to bathe – so he can enjoy his scent in its entirety, not disguised by a truly nauseating stench as Trevor’s been doing so for long. It will take quite a bit of cajoling, Alucard knows, because Trevor is so used to hiding what he is – to being _ashamed_ of what he is.

In his childhood, his mother had taught him what it meant to awaken – that it was a biological process his body would undergo around the same time as puberty. She had watched him carefully, taught him to watch for the signs, and to come to her, should he have any questions – of which, he had had many.

His mother had seen many omegas, such as herself, come into their home in Lupu. Almost all of them women.

One, though, had been a man.

He’d come in the dead of night, waking his mother from a deep sleep and Alucard – who had only freshly awakened himself – had gone for a knife, thinking a bandit or something had come, because who else would be banging on the door in the middle of the night?

“Put that away,” she said, shooing him away with the knife he’d grabbed.

When she had opened the door, he recognized the scent. Similar yet different to his mother’s, what marks her as an ‘omega’ rather than an ‘alpha’. And…

He realized that the man was expecting.

There had been other omegas who had come, who had been with child. All women, seeking his mother’s advice – one or two seeking to end their pregnancy, others seeking ways to prevent one. And his mother would help each, dispensing a remedy or prevention method wherever necessary, always without judgment.

The man looked absolutely terrified, “I… I’m sorry for coming so late, I…”

His mother had pulled the door open, gesturing for him to come in, “Please. It’s rude to linger in doorways. Adrian, stoke the fire and bring our guest something to drink – tea, preferably, the herbal one in the blue jar.”

“Of course, mother.”

And she had showed the man to a seat at her table, making sure he was comfortable.

He made himself busy, boiling the water, making the tea, and bringing it to their guest, before withdrawing to the hall. His curiosity had bade that he stay, rather than return to his bedroom; not that that would have stopped him, his hearing had always been _much_ keener than a human’s.

“There’s little else that would bring you to my door so late,” she said softly. “You want to terminate then, yes?”

“... he didn’t _want_ children with me. Said it would be the devil’s work if I conceived, even though we both knew I would. I was in heat, see, and he… he was willing to make it work, so long as we didn’t have children.”

“How far along? I only need to know for what to give you, whatever you say will not leave this room; I can guarantee your privacy.”

“Two months. I’d realized… I’d only realized when I missed two; not that unusual for me to miss a month.”

“Right. You wait there, and I’ll go put something together for you.”

And that had been the sign to slip noiselessly back upstairs.

Yet, even though he had been certain he’d made no noise, his mother _knew_ that he’d been listening.

“Male omegas are rare. The church will tell you that they’re of Satan, or some rubbish like that,” his mother explained as she sorted herbs. “None of that’s true. They’re simply a natural occurrence; it’s a little complicated, but they typically occur in incredibly fertile families.”

At the time, he had thought about the faint name on his thigh. He had known, then, that his mate was a male – more than likely an omega.

“Didn’t they believe them in old times to be gifts from the gods?”

“That’s right. Once, we believed that they were gifts, but now, most people curse their existence. If they’re born into a loving family, they’re one of the lucky ones. They can only hope for a mate who accepts them.”

“Mother…”

And he hadn’t been certain, then, how to frame his request. After that night with the man seeking to end his pregnancy and looking at the name he bears, he’d wondered what his mate would require of him. Would his mate feel as that man had felt?

“What if my mate doesn’t want children with me?”

The question had hung in the air. His mother had not had an answer for him then.

It’s one that returns to him now, for even with Trevor having shared his blood with him, it’s not an answer he has. Nothing in Trevor’s memories had given him an inkling of what _Trevor_ would want from him, beyond his acceptance and love.

Perhaps, Alucard thinks, he’s getting ahead of himself. He can ill afford to distract himself with thoughts of ‘what if’ when they have more pressing concerns. A chill runs through him, reminding him of what the three of them must do.

He squeezes his eyes closed.

_Be better than them_.

She had begged and pleaded that this not happen, that his father not lose himself to the loss and his rage. Rather than beg for her own life, she had begged that his father not kill humanity – that which she had held so dear, that which she had given her life for.

And now, here he is, choosing to honour his mother and her last wishes by killing his father. The man she had loved beyond almost all else.

It’s a bitter taste to have to swallow.

Try as he might, he cannot reconcile the man who loved and raised him – who loved and mated a human woman, his _mother_ – with the monster that he’s become.

It’s almost absently that he touches where the scar from his father’s wound once marred his chest.

Healed completely now, not a trace of the scar remaining. All because…

Trevor makes a noise in his sleep, curls closer to him as though seeking warmth or comfort – perhaps both.

Because his _human_ mate had chosen to share his blood with him.

The monster his father has become would see them both dead. Trevor is human and Alucard a traitor to the cause of wiping humanity from the earth. There’s no place for the two of them in the world his father now envisions. And now that he’s tasted Trevor’s blood… he can’t imagine a world without him.

It leaves him with one path before him. One that he had decided upon a year earlier.

His father will die.

As much as he might wish that it could end otherwise, he knows better. There are no other options anymore; his father is too far gone. Had he not fled when he had, his father would have torn him apart as though he was little more than a wild animal. In that instant, they had not been father and son, but predator and prey.

It opens a chasm inside of him, to know that his father is lost to him. He had meant it when he said that his father was lost; he ceased to exist when his mother died and their bond had been shattered.

Looking at Trevor, he cannot help but think _I can understand_. True, it’s been such a short time, but mating bonds can be heady – especially when one has begun to coalesce. He might have underestimated the strength of attachment that simple act of sharing blood could cause; he’d always been leaping before he looked. But...

Touching his lips, he remembers the sharp tang that had been so faint in Trevor’s scent and feels a pang of concern. They can ill afford to –

“So you and Belmont are mates, then?”

Sypha’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. He tips his head towards her, keeping his voice soft so as not to disturb the man sleeping against him.

“We are, yes.”

“That’s quite… ironic,” Sypha says. “A Belmont and a half-vampire. It will make for quite the story, one day.”

“Are you already planning how you intend to pass along this tale?”

“It’s what we Speakers do. We tell stories to each other, we’re the keepers of this country’s great and beautiful history.” Her voice turns soft, unsure, “Do you really think that we can win?”

“Together, I believe we can. I was alone when I confronted my father a year ago,” Alucard admits. “And I was naïve. There was… a not-so-small part of me that hoped that I could somehow reach him, that he wasn’t yet completely lost.”

“He is your father.”

“I should have known better. I should have been fully prepared to kill him, then and there, and not have hesitated with words. My mother was his mate – in every sense of the word. Her death… it completely destroyed the man that he was.”

Sypha tips her head back to look at him, “I know that the loss of a mate can be… difficult. Is it that much more so for a vampire?”

“When you have an eternity before you, your mate is your one constant – your companion, your lover, your closest confidante. They become your world,” Alucard says quietly. “It was explained to me when I was child, but it’s common – almost expected – that a vampire who loses their mate will completely lose their will to live. The loss is more than enough to drive one mad.”

He tips his head back, glances at Trevor out of the corner of his eye, “My father explained it to me when I was a child, once. I think he was cautioning me not to take the risks that he had, in his own way.”

“Risks?”

“My father never turned my mother.”

“So you said. But, you also said that vampires don’t take human mates. Yet he did. And, I presume, you intend to do the same. Unless...”

“ _No_. I would _never_ do that. Not to him.” Alucard pauses, then continues, “Trevor will stay exactly how he is.”

“... he’d hate you, if you did.”

“That, too.”

“But you didn’t answer my question. Well, thought, more like. Why do vampires not take humans as mates?”

“Humans are naturally vulnerable,” Alucard replies. “They can die easily. Even when mated to a vampire, which… confers certain benefits, they still may die from illness or injury. Given the consequences, many would rather not face such a loss, so they turn their mates, rather than leave them as they are.”

“Fascinating,” Sypha murmurs. “What do you mean when you say ‘benefits’?”

Alucard smiles, rather humorlessly, “What all of humanity desires: eternal youth and life.”

 

 

 

It’s quite late in the afternoon when they arrive in Severin.

Gresit, it seems, has taken the worst of the horde’s raids, for Severin is, at least, not decorated with the dismembered bodies of its populace. The guards who permit them to enter the city are wary, but say nothing as they wave them through – the streets beyond silent and empty.

“Should we find an inn?” Sypha asks. “Or find somewhere to wait for the horde to strike?”

“What we need is information,” Alucard says. “Targoviste, we know, is lost. For that city would have borne the brunt of… of my father’s wrath. We need to learn the state of the other city-states to judge where we will be needed most. And to try and predict where my father will go next.”

“We have heard the stories, that Dracula’s castle can travel. They’re true, then? Sometimes it’s hard to separate the truth from the myth.”

“It moves by way of an engine which only he can control – to put it simply it moves as though, well, by magic.”

“That complicates things.”

“From what little I know, he moved the castle to Targoviste when he first began this extermination,” Alucard says. “I very much doubt that it’s still there; he will have moved it since. And even were it still there, it would be suicide to try and storm it there. Especially when he could easily move it before we could enter.”

Trevor twitches, curls closer to him, and murmurs something almost unintelligible in his sleep.

“So, we need to locate it, then. That’s our first step.”

“Locating it will prove to be easier. Making our way to it without revealing ourselves will be far more difficult.”

Carefully, Sypha steers the wagon through the winding streets, before she finds a small, rundown looking inn along the edges of one of the walls. The sign is batter and, much like many buildings within the city, is stained liberally with blood.

“Shall I make the arrangements, then?”

Gently, Alucard brushes back Trevor’s hair and kisses his forehead, “Trevor.”

The man barely stirs.

“Wake up.” Alucard pauses, then leans in and nips at his ear sharply.

Trevor jerks awake, eyes wide and with a sharp spike of arousal in his scent. It’s more than enough to make Alucard chuckle.

“That was mean.”

“Would you rather I carry you?”

His cheeks flush a very attractive shade of red and he glances away, “... maybe not.”


	9. Chapter 9

The inn that Sypha’s found for them is along the edge of town, only a street or two away from the main gate of the city. Trevor’s not surprised to find that it’s fairly empty; those who would usually have filled it are likely either dead or fled into the countryside.

Automatically, Trevor’s first instinct is to head for the tavern and drown himself in ale.

Unfortunately, he can’t do that. Not only because of what’s at stake, but because he has people _relying_ on him now. He’s not sure what to do at present, though, because he’s pretty much been abandoned in the entrance of the inn – Sypha is bartering their rooms and rate with the innkeeper, while Alucard has struck up a conversation with a scruffy, bearded man.

“... two rooms, yes,” Sypha says.

“Inappropriate it is, for an unwed omega to be in the company of an alpha,” the innkeeper replies. “Even in these times.”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry,” Sypha replies. “My ‘honour’ is perfectly safe; I’m in the company of my brother and his mate.”

Trevor goes red to the tips of his ears and quickly looks away when he realizes that the innkeeper is now staring quite pointedly in his direction. He presses his hand to the side of the neck, which stings a little. He can feel its rough edges and, well, he supposes that it could easily be mistaken for a claim mark.

“Hmph,” the innkeeper says. “Don’t like ‘em male omegas, but what can you do when that’s what your dealt. Good on your brother for taking him; not many would. I’ve got two rooms for you; luckily for you, not many in need of them as of late.”

The innkeeper slides across two heavy, iron keys, gestures to the staircase a little down the hall, “Your room, young lady, is up the stairs, third on the left. Your brother and his mate have the room across the hall.” She casts an eye at Trevor, who stands straighter under her scrutiny and scowls back, “Don’t worry ‘bout the noise; walls here are thick.”

He takes the key from Sypha, muttering under his breath, “God, I need a drink…”

“Absolutely not.”

Unsurprisingly, it comes from _both_ Sypha and Alucard. At the same time. Have they been practicing?

Alucard softens the blow of his words, stroking the back of Trevor’s hand gently with his fingers, “Come, we should get you fed and then we can fill you in on what Sypha and I discussed today while you slept.”

“You could’ve woke me…” Trevor grumbles.

“You needed the rest.” And Alucard’s hand comes to rest at the small of his back, beneath the press of his cloak, gently guiding him into the tavern.

His stomach grumbles in response to the scent of stew that’s floating through the air. He shoots Alucard a sharp look, “Not _one_ word...”

He gets only an innocent smile in response.

Unlike the inn, which is practically empty, there’s a number of people gathered in the tavern. Almost all of them bear the same harrowed look, as though they have each been through their own personal hell – which is completely understandable. Severin hasn’t been completely spared the horde’s wrath, after all.

The three of them find a table in a corner. When the serving girl comes over to take their order, it doesn’t escape Trevor’s notice that she casts a very appreciative, appraising glance over Alucard.

It’s almost unconscious, the way that he feels his hackles rise, and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from _growling_ at her. He shoots her a sharp look, though, and he doesn’t doubt that the scowl his face is twisted into is a scary one, especially since she never _once_ looks at him or Sypha as she takes their orders.

As though he senses Trevor’s irritation, Alucard squeezes his thigh gently. It nearly makes him jump out of his own skin, he wasn’t expecting the touch. And the touch… well, there’s definitely no hiding what he is now; his scent’s spiked dangerously with arousal and…

Trevor wants to bury his face in his hands.

Though it’s faint, he can feel the beginning of a hum in his veins – a singing that he doesn’t doubt that Alucard can sense. Already, he’s already beginning to run hot.

He’s going to go into heat.

Glancing away from Alucard, he begins staring a hole into the table. And, almost shyly, places a hand over Alucard’s, returning the squeeze.

It’s the absolute _last_ thing that they need to happen. His going into heat. He’ll be out of commission for several days, at least, and it’ll be _worse_ than previous ones, Trevor knows, because his _mate_ is _right there_. His entire body will be crying out for Alucard to claim him and that won’t happen. It… it just won’t.

His stomach sinks and there’s a pang in his chest. But he can’t force Alucard into doing anything; he can’t _make_ him claim him, can’t –

“Trevor, are you alright?”

His head snaps up, meeting worried, warm amber, and his heart leaps up into his throat.

“Yeah,” he manages, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.”

Sypha, too, is giving him a sharp look. Her nostrils flare, and she says, “You’re about to go into heat, aren’t you.”

“It’s really fucking annoying that you _both_ can tell.”

“That Alucard can tell is obvious,” Sypha responds, tartly. “He’s your mate, after all. But you do a terrible job of hiding it.”

“Funny, no one’s picked up on it before.”

“I’ve spent enough time in your company that the differences in your scent are obvious. More than that, though, I know the look and behaviour of an omega about to go into heat.” She pauses, then, and says, “We’ll have to stay in Severin longer than we had planned.”

“What?! I can–”

“Trevor.” Alucard squeezes his thigh sharply, “You are _not_ going to be going into heat in the middle of the wilderness. Yes, it’s not ideal, but there’s naught we can do about it now but make the experience less unpleasant for you.”

“... wow, thanks.”

And it’s true. He actually means it, because no one else has ever cared before. Not since the fire.

Really, though, Trevor knows it’s not all that surprising. His heats are irregular, popping up at the most inopportune times. And he’d missed his last one, too. It doesn’t surprise him that much that he has one now; the stress of dealing with Dracula’s hordes, meeting his mate… the last, he knows, is really what’s done it.

It’s natural; his body’s trying its best to appeal to his mate. To draw him in and show that _yes I am a good mate for you_. His… his mother had told him, when he’d first awakened, that his mate’s appearance in his life would trigger one. He allows himself to remember that much, at least.

He lets out a sigh, “Sorry. I know this isn’t… a good time.”

“I’ll likely have one before this is over, if not after,” Sypha says, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s a natural response to stress.”

The serving girl appears then, sliding two mugs of what is definitely hot tea before Trevor and Sypha, and depositing a bowl of stew in front of the former. She holds her tray to her chest, batting her eyelashes at Alucard, saying in a soft, almost simpering voice, “Are you _sure_ there’s nothing I can get for you?”

“I’m fine, but thank you,” Alucard replies softly. He only spares her a glance, his full attention reserved for Trevor.

“So,” Trevor says, once it’s just the three of them again. “What’s the plan?”

“We need more information,” Sypha says. “About the horde’s movement and if we can find any information about the castle; locating it should be our priority.”

“According to the hunter I spoke with, there are a number of nests in the area,” Alucard says. “But beyond that, there’s been little activity outside of nightly raids. It seems that Gresit has taken the brunt of the horde’s attack in the area.”

“It definitely feels as though there’s no thought to the attacks,” Sypha says. “You would think that they would want to take Severin just as badly as Gresit.”

“There is no thought to it. But there will be.”

Trevor hums thoughtfully, tapping the spoon against his lips, “So… we’re gathering information, then? That’s it?”

“For now, yes.”

“Are we splitting up, or…?”

“ _You_ can’t be left alone,” Sypha states.

He chokes on the stew, “Wha–”

“I trust him,” Alucard says simply. “Trevor will be fine.”

Sypha huffs, “Very well.”

 

 

 

Outside of the inn, Trevor stops Alucard with a hand on his arm, “What was that about?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you ‘hm’ me. Sypha saying I can’t be left alone.”

“I can only assume it’s because you’re going into a heat,” Alucard replies, with half a shrug. “She’s likely worried that someone might try to take advantage of your condition.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know,” Alucard says softly. “You will do fine. I know that.”

Trevor blinks, then says, “Are… you’re feeling possessive.”

There’s a faint tint of pink high in Alucard’s cheeks.

“With your heat, yes. It goes against my instincts to let you out of my sight, where someone might try something. I’ll admit: I don’t like the thought of you being on your own. But I _do_ trust you; I know that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself.”

“Going against your nature here, huh?”

“I am _more_ than my nature.”

Alucard’s shoulders are a tense line, his eyes almost ablaze.

He doesn’t think too much when he closes the distance between them, lays a hand on Alucard’s chest, and leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “It’s appreciated. Thank you.”

“Stay safe,” Alucard murmurs, gently cupping Trevor’s cheek in his hand. “I will come for you, if you need me.”

“I know.”


	10. Chapter 10

Given the hour of the afternoon, there aren’t many people out and about. The earlier in the day that they can get done what needs to be done, the better. Most of Severin’s population are holed up in their homes, and many windows are boarded up – or broken. The streets, too, are stained brown in many places, evidence of the slow slaughter that has been taking place.

And those that are out and about aren’t, as Trevor quickly discovers, too willing to linger long for any sort of conversation.

The only one willing to speak for any length of time, is the priest who has just finished burying some of the townsfolk. He closes his Bible and offers the gravediggers a solemn nod, before he spots Trevor lingering near the edge of the church yard.

“I don’t believe that I’ve seen your face in recent days,” he says by way of greeting. “Are you new to town or simply passing through?”

“Bit of both.”

“Ah, one of the many refugees, then? I do hope that you have found lodging. If not, there is room enough in the church – though we are lacking in the way of beds.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me what’s been happening. My, uh, companions and I came from Gresit.”

“I had heard that Gresit has suffered the horde’s wrath worse,” the priest says. “It would be a lie to say that we have not seen death. The nightly raids usually result in more than a few people losing their lives; it… has been difficult to keep up, I will admit. Especially seeing as the bishop of Gresit recalled a number of my fellows from the city.”

“Really? But not you?”

“I am needed here,” he replies simply. “The people _need_ hope and comfort – now especially. The bishop… has his own beliefs about what God’s plan is though I would call it hubris to believe that any mortal can know His plans.”

“He’s a right fucking shit, that’s for sure.”

The priest covers his mouth, muffling a chuckle with a cough, “If one wishes to put it that way. But God would not want us to abandon our fellows in such desperate times as these. If I can ease the suffering of even one individual, then I am content.”

“So it’s just been the night raids then? Do they come every night?”

The priest nods, “Every night, yes. We count the dead and missing in the morning, for the horde do not always leave the dead behind. There are… a good number of missing.”

“Surely the church is safe, what with it being hallowed ground and all.”

“Thus far, we have been unharmed. You can hear the screams and shrieks throughout the night, so there is little sleep to be had.” The priest, who is _at least_ several decades older than Trevor, lets out a sigh, “It is a shame, though, that there is so little to be done. Many are feeling powerless, which is not good for morale.”

“I don’t doubt it; there’s not much the common people can do against such a horde.”

He raises a brow at Trevor, regarding him with a sharp look, “You know… I had not thought much of it, but you remind me of a man I once knew when I was young.”

“Really?”

“I would not forget him easily, for he saved my mother from a demon,” he intones softly. “You are not wrong, that the common people can do little but pray for deliverance. There are few who would stand against the darkness and the Belmonts were the only ones within memory who could.”

He freezes, dread settling low in his gut, “Thought that they were excommunicated – for dabbling in the dark arts.”

“The church is not always right; it is an entity with its own agenda and its members jockeying for position,” the priest states simply. “We are human and just as prone to worldly temptations, though there are those who would deny that they are. It is the choices we make which show our true character, and the Belmonts chose to stand against the darkness – they were powerful, and that made them dangerous.”

“You really think they could have stopped this?”

“If not stop, then they would stand against it.” He lets out a sigh, looking up at the sigh, which is turning blood red as the sun begins its descent. “It truly is a tragedy, for everyone. They were the only ones who could have stood against the tide.”

There’s little else to be said, and Trevor takes his leave, deep in thought.

It’s true and Trevor has said as much in previous days. His family really _were_ the only ones who could have successfully stood against the darkness that’s threatening to swallow Wallachia whole. And now, here he is, the last of the Belmont line, carrying on that legacy in their stead. It’s not something he thought himself capable of not even a week earlier.

Tugging his cloak closer around his shoulders, Trevor wrinkles his nose. Alucard _might_ be right about the smell; the combination of sewer and his underlying natural scent is not a particularly pleasant one. So, Sypha might have a point too.

But he’s so used to hiding what he is that there’s a large part of him that bristles at the thought. He had been held as a reason for why his family were branded as heretics; he’s putting both Alucard and Sypha in danger with his imminent heat, not to mention their shared cause. And now, he’s returning to the inn, hoping that their efforts at locating information on the horde and Dracula’s castle have been more successful than his.

Certainly, he does not want to disappoint them and the thought that he might has his shoulders tightening painfully.

As he turns a corner, he glances to his right and halts in his tracks.

Even through the boarded up windows, he catches sight of bookshelves, each of which are stacked full of books.

Trevor stares dumbly for several seconds.

He’s a fucking _idiot_. How could he have forgotten?

Quickening his pace, Trevor has to stop himself from breaking out into a full run. Above his head, the sky is bleeding from red to pitch quickly as night begins to fall. He can hear the echoing noises of his boots on the streets, his heart rushing in his ears.

Coming around one corner, he skids to a halt.

Trevor has faced and fought vampires before. They exude a kind of chill that’s palpable, even to the most ignorant human; something about them being so preternatural that they just radiate the aura of a predator. Vampires possess a bloodless pallor to their skin, too sharp nails, and sharp, pointed ears.

That the man in front of him is a vampire is obvious. If it wasn’t for the tell-tale signs, it would be the fact that the man’s dressed ridiculously; it’s early winter in Wallachia, and the man is bare-chested, showing off that too pale, almost grey skin.

He grins at Trevor, which reveals a glistening pair of fangs and swaggers towards him, “So, you’d be the Belmont then.”

Trevor knows better than to let the vampire get even _close_ to being within reach. Facing Alucard had pushed him to his limit, and he’s under no illusions that had Alucard chosen to, he would be dead – although he would have at least taken the man down with him. Fighting vampires is _always_ a risky ordeal, and Trevor knows that he’s at a disadvantage.

Unlike the ones Trevor has faced before, this one is a complete unknown. Not to mention, he doesn’t _look_ like one that would be caught sleeping in his own freshly undug grave.

His whip cracks through the air, and he feels a certain amount of pride when it slices through the vampire’s cheek.

That turns out to be a mistake.

Trevor really hates that he keeps ending up in these situations.

Everything happens _very_ fast.

The vampire isn’t nearly as fast as Alucard, but hits _harder_. Trevor dodges the fist that aims for his head, but misses the sword. He hisses when it slices through his clothes, leaving a long, shallow, but deeply bleeding gash at his side. It’s a superficial wound, but that’s just as dangerous as something more serious.

Grinning wildly, the vampire licks the blood from his sword.

“Sweet little breeder livestock,” he coos. “Are _you_ the reason for Dracula’s son turning against us?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He cackles, “Oh! You’ve got some fight in you. Good. Otherwise, you wouldn’t _nearly_ be as fun to play with.”

“I’m not somebody to toy with,” Trevor snaps. He shrugs off his cloak, allowing him better freedom of movement “Now why don’t you fucking put your blade where your mouth is so we can end this?”

“Now,” and the vampire’s behind him now, “where would the fun be in that?”

Trevor’s aware that he is quite definitely screwed. In the worst ways. His _only_ advantage is that his opponent seems to be more interested in _playing_ with him than killing him outright.

The vampire’s laughing loudly now, “Carmilla was fucking right! A fucking _Belmont_! Excellent! I’ve not tasted a hunter’s blood before. Or...” And his grin turns lascivious as he licks his lips, “I could just take you as my own and _that_ would solve our problem nicely.”

“I’d stake you if you even tried,” Trevor snaps. “Now _fuck off_.”

Fights with vampires are almost always short and brutal.

But with this fight, Trevor’s stomach has dropped out, because he realizes _very quickly_ that the vampire is toying with him. He’s not testing him, or anything of the sort, but playing with him as a cat would with a captured mouse.

He loses his whip as it’s jerked from his hand when the vampire catches it and _yanks_. Trevor has enough mind to release it, though it does pull him off of a sure footing. Though he’s lost his primary weapon, he still has his knives, but –

It’s the opening that the vampire was waiting for.

His hand is frigid against Trevor’s neck, his grip tight but not _quite_ cutting off his air supply. Not yet, at least. Trevor’s keenly aware how screwed he is, because the vampire could snap his neck easily if he so desires.

He really hates the smug smile, the way his fangs jut out, and the fact that while Trevor’s smell is not great, he absolutely _reeks_ of every awful smell known. It’s quite clear that the vampire’s never even _heard_ of what a bath is. His stomach churns and he has to swallow back bile because the scent of death is so potent.

“You _could_ be a pretty little thing.”

Trevor grabs the thick wrist in one hand, his other fumbling for one of the knives he keeps sheathed at the small of his back. His hand tightens around the hilt of one, but he doesn’t withdraw it – not yet.

The vampire’s breath is honestly the _worst_ thing that he has ever smelled. And he climbed up a shit pipe in Gresit, so he would _know_.

He leans in close to Trevor’s face, baring his fangs and grinning widely, “No wonder Dracula’s brat is so taken with you; could almost make this dead heart beat.”

Trevor grits his teeth, feels his nails digging into his palm from how tightly he’s gripped his knife.

“Trevor!”

Trevor’s not sure, in that instant, if Alucard’s arrival is a blessing or a curse. It _does_ cause the vampire to look away from him, still grinning lewdly; his grip tightens a hairsbreadth around Trevor’s neck, cutting off his voice.

“Come to defend your little pet, have you?”

“Let him go.”

Alucard’s voice is deadly soft. The line of his shoulders and mouth are taut, eyes narrowed and – glowing brightly. His blade hovers at the height of his shoulder, perfectly poised to shoot forward and pierce through the vampire’s heart. Trevor doesn’t doubt that it would both strike true and miss him completely.

“Don’t know what you see in such a squishy little thing. Why don’t _I_ do you a favour and take him? Since you’re too cowardly to do so.”

“Should your fangs even _touch_ him, I will have your heart.” Alucard’s eyes flash bright red and he’s not even a foot away from the two of them.

Clearly, the speed with which Alucard moves unsettles the vampire, because he jerks Trevor closer; the tips of his claws digging into the soft flesh of his neck. Trevor grits his teeth, breathing becoming difficult. There are going to be bruises for sure.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Risking your pet like this?”

“He is _not_ my pet. Let. Him. Go.”

“Bah, you’re just like the old man; obsessed with the livestock and taking little pets for yourself. Maybe _I_ should take yours; see if his ‘charms’ are that good.”

Gritting his teeth, Trevor withdraws the knife from its sheath.

And then plunges it as deeply as he can into the vampire’s chest.

The vampire howls, face twisting into a scowl. Trevor twists, freeing himself from the suddenly loosened grip, and pulls out another knife as he drops to the ground and out of reach. Then, he lunges forward and jams it as hard as he possibly can.

Straight into the vampire’s crotch.

Trevor pushes back and away, putting distance between himself and the vampire. Just in time, too, because he narrowly dodges being backhanded across the street.

“You little–”

Alucard’s between the two of them, blade in hand and level with the vampire’s throat.

“No further.”

Trevor stumbles to his feet, withdrawing another two knives from their sheaths on his chest. His breathing is shaky, heavy, and he can still feel the iron grip that the vampire had on him. He does grin, though, when he sees the damage – he might have missed the vampire’s heart, but it was _certainly_ a close one.

His other knife is still deeply embedded in the vampire’s crotch – which has to hurt, both physically and his pride. Alphas, Trevor knows, are always so full of it when it comes to their dicks.

A line of flame shoots down the street, cutting off the vampire from Alucard and Trevor with a wall of fire.

The vampire stumbles back a little, pulling the knife from his chest and discarding it. The other, though, he removes much more gingerly. There’s a slosh of blood and –

Alright, he hadn’t expected to _castrate_ the vampire, but he takes a certain amount of pride in that.

“ _You little fucking livestock shit_!”

Trevor tightens his grip on his daggers as Sypha runs up, summoning floating daggers of ice to hand as she does. Alucard, conversely, is disturbingly still.

“I’ll have your head for this!”

“You will go through me first,” Alucard says. “And _I_ will not allow you to lay a finger on him.”

The first dagger that Sypha launches strikes his arm, the second misses, as the vampire turns tail and flees; cursing them all – Trevor in particular – the entire time.

Sypha doesn’t lower the wall of flame till the vampire has vanished from sight. Trevor’s hands ache a little as he returns his daggers to his sheaths. Alucard sheaths his own blade a little slower, the line of his shoulders still tense.

Trevor’s not certain what he expects when Alucard turns to face him. And he doesn’t know what to make of Alucard’s stormy, unreadable expression. Two steps bring him and Trevor nearly face to face, and he reaches out to gently brush the back of his knuckles against Trevor’s cheek.

“Are you alright, Trevor?”

Trevor blinks, “I – fine, yeah.”

“Did you have to castrate him?” Sypha asks. She shoots a blast of flame at the offending… puddle of blood and flesh.

“He deserved it.”

Alucard’s very still, which is worrying. While Sypha grumbles about his dramatic actions, Trevor nervously steps towards Alucard and reaches up, taking his face in his hands.

“... are you alright?” he asks softly.

Catching one of Trevor’s hands in his, Alucard lets out a heavy breath, “I could have lost you. Do you realize that?”

“Well, yeah. That’s a risk when it comes to this business. But I’m fine,” Trevor replies. “You said yourself that I can take care of myself. And I did.”

“Sypha was right, though. You didn’t need to castrate him.”

“He deserved it.”

“That was one of my father’s generals,” Alucard says. “And you just put a giant target on your back; you have made it personal.”

“Don’t care.”

“Trevor.”

“He can try, but I won’t go down without a fight. Besides, he’s got nothing on you.”

There’s a tiny ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of Alucard’s list. He presses his lips to the palm of Trevor’s hand, brushes them against the sensitive skin along the inside of his wrist.

“I’m flattered.” Alucard’s still tense, evident in the tight set of his eyes, “But you need to take fewer risks, please. I won’t lose you. So _please_ , be more careful.”

It does sting, a little. Because Trevor’s not used to having to worry about how his actions affect others; nor has he had to be concerned about how his reckless actions might affect those who _care_ about him. And… it’s hard to deny that Alucard doesn’t, even though there’s a dark, little voice inside of him that whispers that it’s too good to be true, _how could he want someone like you_.

“Kiss me.”

Trevor’s not sure where the words came from, or what he’s hoping that they’ll achieve. But he still holds his breath, feeling as though he’s balanced on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the edge. And either way that he falls, he’s pretty sure he’s damned.

He’s not sure what to expect. Alucard brushes back that stubborn strand of hair that’s always falling into his face and his heart nearly falls, expecting rejection. But then Alucard cups the back of his head and leans in, his lips and breath cool against Trevor’s.

It’s not a chaste brush of lips. Nothing like what they’ve shared before.

Alucard’s lips are firm against his, tugging Trevor closer and there’s the press of fang and tongue against his bottom lip. With one sharp nip, Trevor’s legs go weak and he _melts_.

He fists his hands in Alucard’s coat and shirt, leaning into him. His lips fall open and –

_Oh_.

It feels a little like there are sparks shooting down his spine, setting a smouldering fire alight under his skin. Trevor’s kissed others before – other alphas definitely – but this is… it’s different. Alucard’s mouth is firm but gentle, his tongue tracing along his teeth as though he’s memorizing the textures and tastes of his mouth. Not one to be outdone, Trevor returns the favour and catches Alucard’s tongue with his.

“Is this _really_ the time?”

Trevor nearly jumps out of the skin. He pulls away from Alucard, his cheeks heating, but doesn’t get too far. Alucard’s arm is a firm pressure around his waist, keeping him close and he still hasn’t let go of the man’s coat and shirt.

“It… seemed like a good time?” he offers.

“Please, get a room.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You guys have any luck?”

“I slew a handful of demons near the wall, but aside from that, no.”

Sypha shrugs, “There weren’t many people willing to talk. Everyone is afraid and looking to just survive. The most that I could gather was that the raids are sporadic and with no pattern to them. What about you?”

“Well, I didn’t learn anything but…” Trevor swallows, then says, “I think we should go to my home.”

“What?”

“The Belmont estate was burned to the ground. I visited it.”

Trevor winces, “Yeah, that was the _house_. But… the value wasn’t in the land or the house, but what was _underneath_ it: the Belmont family hold. It’s a repository of all the knowledge gathered by generations of the family; if there’s a way to find Dracula’s castle, then it would be there.”

“That’s just a guess.”

“Do you have a better idea? Because I’m out of ideas and this is probably the best lead we’re going to get. If anyone would know how to find Dracula’s castle, it would be my family.”

“Would the hold even still be there?” Sypha asks.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Trevor replies, “The hold is buried underneath the estate and protected. The entrance was hidden and no one outside of my family knew of its existence or where the entrance is.”

“You think you can find it?”

“I still remember the house. We might have to dig through the wreckage but… the entrance and the hold itself should still be there. If anything could have survived, it would be the Belmont family hold.”

“How far are we from the old Belmont estate?”

“Two or three days, if I remember right,” Trevor says. Then adds, softly, “I… haven’t been there since the fire. I don’t know what might be left.”

His cloak is wrapped around his shoulders, warding off the worst of the night’s chill and the clash of it upon his heated skin. Trevor blinks, then looks to Alucard, who offers him a small smile in response.

“Some of the manor still stands,” Alucard says slowly. “But it’s little more than a stone shell of what it once was.”

Trevor blinks, “You went to my family home?”

“It seemed as good a place to start looking for you as any,” Alucard replies. “Although, I did not find much of use beyond old stories and whispers of heresy.”

“You… you went _looking_ for me?”

“Of course. You are my mate and, I presume, bear my name as I bear yours. I went looking for you once I was old enough and… in control of what I am.” There’s a far away, pained look to Alucard’s face as he continues, “I was searching for you when… when they took my mother.”

“I’m sorry.” He reaches out, gently takes Alucard’s hand in his and squeezes, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Nor was it yours.”

Trevor blinks and opens his mouth, but is interrupted when Sypha shoves an elbow into his side.

“Don’t be an idiot; you’ve got ‘I wasn’t worth it’ written across your face.”

“I do n–”

“You do.” Again, in unison.

“Have you two been practicing? Because this is getting creepy.”

“Not at all,” Sypha replies. Then, hums thoughtfully, and says, “But you’re right. If anyone would have the knowledge of how to locate Dracula’s castle, it would be the Belmonts. I have heard rumours that they possessed some secret knowledge acquired over time – much like we Seekers do – but to have it confirmed…”

“The Belmonts have been hunters of the dark things that plague humanity for centuries,” Alucard replies. “Many vampires suspect and have heard that they possess secret knowledge. Having confirmed that Trevor survives – that the Belmonts _weren’t_ all killed – means that they may be watching the estate.”

“Then we deal with them. Once we get into the hold itself, they won’t be able to follow.”

“You sound so certain.”

“My parents said that the hold will only open to a Belmont,” Trevor replies. “It was built and designed to be a repository for everything we knew and learned – family members would bring back knowledge or strange things that they found on their travels. Wallachia was our home, but we ventured beyond her borders many times.”

“Fascinating,” Sypha murmurs. “What else does the hold contain?”

“I’m… not entirely sure,” Trevor admits. “I’d only been allowed to visit it twice before… well, my parents said that I’d learn once I was older. But there were books on magic, on the known world, and anything and everything that they could find. If it could possibly be of use, then it was brought back and added to the collection.”

“That reminds me. ‘Belmont’ is not a particularly Wallachian name – and neither is ‘Trevor’, now that I think about it.”

“We came here… I can’t remember how many generations ago,” Trevor says. He scratches his chin, trying to remember the lessons he’d been taught as a child. “Think it was a Leon Belmont who was the first to come to Wallachia. He built the estate and the hold beneath it – if I remember right, he came from France. Rode out with a Celt, supposedly, named Trefor. But then, my parents weren’t particularly traditional Wallachians.”

“Fascinating.” Sypha’s eyes are glittering with excitement, “So, our course is set, then. We wait out Belmont’s heat here in Severin, then make for the Belmont estate and hold.”

“We don’t have to wait. I can–”

“No,” Alucard says firmly. “I won’t have you go into heat in the wilderness, simply because _you_ think yourself unimportant.”

“I’ve done it before; it wouldn’t be anything new.”

“It would drive Alucard up the wall,” Sypha states. “You’re not alone in this any longer, Belmont. Do consider that.”

He flushes as she says that, “I… well… that...”

“I’ll begin making preparations for our journey to the estate,” Sypha continues. “And I’ll make some inquiries at the inn. Will there be anything the two of you will require in the coming days?”

“We–”

“A bath, please,” Alucard interrupts.

“Very well, I’ll see that one is drawn for the both of you and myself.”

And, with that, she leaves the two of them alone, in an incredibly awkward silence, with Trevor staring at the ground rather than look to his mate.

They’ve not talked about his heat, beyond its inevitable arrival. And Trevor had meant that he could easily spend it in the wilderness, because what’s a little discomfort and heightened libido? It’s not anything he’s not dealt with before, having had years of heats spent on his own in worse conditions.

Sypha was right, though, in that he hadn’t thought of how that would affect Alucard.

“... are we really having this conversation?”

“Would you rather ignore it?”

His automatic answer is ‘yes’ but that’s not what Alucard wants to hear. Nor will it solve their current dilemma. He can’t exactly kick Alucard out of the room for however long his heat lasts. But then… it would be torture for the both of them if they’re confined together.

“If you would rather I not spend your heat with you, you need only say,” Alucard says at long last.

Trevor blinks, then looks up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. He hadn’t…

“You… you make it sound like you want to.”

“Of course I do. I have and will want no one but you.” Alucard turns and takes Trevor’s face in his hands, “You are my mate, Trevor, and that will not change. Nothing you could do or say would stop my wanting you – unless that is what you desire.”

It feels a lot like the ground has been yanked out from under him. Hope has been a rare and fragile thing for him, something which he could ill afford. It’s hard to shake, even now, with Alucard staring at him with those deep, intense golden eyes of his that _this man_ could possibly want _him_.

He bites his lip, “... you would _want_ me as a mate?”

“Trevor,” Alucard says softly. “Are you trying to tempt me into _claiming_ you as some proof that I want you?”

Well shit.

“A little. Maybe. It’s annoying that you can see through me that easily.”

“You’re not as difficult to read as you think you are,” Alucard responds. “And if you _want_ me to claim you, you need only ask. All I ask is that you are _certain_ that is what you want.”

“I’m not easy.”

“No, definitely not. You can be difficult, hard-headed, annoying, and an utter pain in the ass. But that doesn’t change that you are also kind, put others before yourself, and are just as worthy of love as any other.” Alucard lets out a breath, “If the fate of humanity were not hanging over our heads, then I would court you properly. But I will take what I can get.”

“You make it very hard, sometimes, to say no.”

“If you want to, you can say so and I will accept that as your answer.”

“Fucking hell,” Trevor mutters, fisting a hand into the front of Alucard’s shirt and yanking him down into a sharp kiss. “I want _you_. You want me to be honest? That’s all I want. The rest of the world can go to hell, but you’re worth fighting for.”

 

 

 

 

_**Elsewhere…** _

It is obvious that the war is not what it seems.

There is no order and there is no directive. Dracula is content with the raids, with the corpses, and seems to revel in the wanton cruelty as he has not done in many, many centuries. On the surface, it appears to be good, what the court has long desired – a return to showing humanity why they should and always have feared the dark.

But that is not at all the truth.

Madness has gripped Dracula, that much is becoming clear. Carmilla is right in her statement of such – that the man cares not for their species’ own continued survival, but simply the wanton destruction of the human race.

And, as much as she detests Carmilla, the woman is right.

Dracula has gone mad, all because of the loss of his human mate. He cares not for their survival as a species, simply seeking to lash out at humanity until all of it has been burned to the ground. And then he can enjoy the slow madness of a death by thirst.

“Fucking Belmont bastard,” Godbrand curses. “We need to do something about the whelp; teach that fucker a lesson.”

“Perhaps you should not have been so reckless,” she states simply. “You should have killed him, not toyed with him as you do your dinner.”

She hides her smile as Godbrand blusters. His pride has been irrevocably damaged; all that will satisfy him is the Belmont’s death and… it’s certainly not a twist that she could have predicted – that any of them could have.

That their lord’s son has a human mate is not surprising. That he would leave him as such _is_. Too much of his father runs through his veins, then, if he would take the risk and leave him as a vulnerable little human. Or, perhaps, it’s too much of his mother; that human blood being attracted to another of its kind.

It does not change the fact that Alucard – son of Dracula – stands against them. And that, she thinks, should be of greater concern than it is.

A Belmont and the heir to the night court are formidable enemies alone, but together…

Dracula’s reign is ending.


	12. Chapter 12

If he’s honest, there’s quite a bit of appeal to not having to spend his heat out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but his own hands for relief. True, he’s not always spent them _alone_ – but he cuts that thought off before it can fully form, because there’s a lot of guilt and self-hatred tangled up with it that he’s simply not in the mood to deal with.

Returning to the inn, Trevor makes his way up to the room he and Alucard are to share and is incredibly unsurprised to find that a bath has already been drawn. Before the fireplace, there’s a large tub, full of steaming water, with towels and soap neatly placed on a nearby stool.

It’s been a long time since Trevor was afforded the luxury of an _actual_ bath.

Or a bed, for that matter.

He might as well take advantage of it, especially since… well, if Alucard is so determined to spend his heat with him, then he should absolutely make it as pleasant an experience for him as possible. Not that he personally _enjoys_ smelling like a sweaty sewer. With the cat out of the bag, there’s not much use in keeping up the illusion. Even though it _does_ prick at his pride.

Shrugging out of his cloak, Trevor starts stripping down.

He’s in the process of pulling his shirt off over his head when the door creaks open and Alucard steps inside.

_Oh shit_.

“I didn’t think it would be on your ass,” Alucard remarks.

Trevor flushes, tosses his shirt to the side, and crosses his arms across his chest, “Yeah, alright, so I have your name on my ass. Do you want me to go shout it from the rooftops?”

“No. I would rather be the _only_ one to know that.”

“Well congratulations, you and I are the only ones who know.” _Everyone else is dead_.

Alucard approaches deceptively slowly, extends a hand but stops, then says, “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

Before, it had caused sparks to shoot up and down his spine when Alucard touched his mark through his clothes.

Alucard’s fingers are cool against his skin, which is already running far hotter than normal, which makes Trevor shiver. But, more importantly, it feels undeniably _right_ for Alucard to touch him; his fingers lightly trace along each letter of his name, which only has Trevor burning hotter and –

_Fuck he’s wet_.

That such a simple touch could arouse him so much is a little embarrassing. Trevor shoves that aside, with a number of excuses. Alucard’s his mate, he’s on the edge of a heat, and it’s been a really fucking long time since he’s experienced any form of intimate contact.

Trevor shifts a little, trying to alleviate the discomfort of being suddenly very wet and very hard. His instincts are already cooing at him to just jump Alucard then and there, just throw himself at him without thought and fuck right there on the floor.

“You’re aroused,” Alucard remarks. “Should I stop?”

“No.”

With more courage than he thought himself capable of in that moment, Trevor turns, takes Alucard’s face in his hands, and kisses him. Nipping at his bottom lip, Trevor pulls back, and says, “If I want you to stop, believe me you’ll know.”

“You still stink.”

“I’m aware. Are you going to help me fix that?”

Alucard’s smile is soft, which seems to be their default setting, but warm and it makes his heart flutter just a little in his chest. He nods his head, “I’d like that.”

The gloves are the first to go, and it’s only a _little_ disconcerting how quickly Alucard moves. His hands, though are smooth, with long delicate fingers and it’s a little strange to think that those hands are incredibly deadly but, at the same time, touching him with such… reverence. Yet, there’s a touch of hesitance that has Trevor frowning.

“... you haven’t done this before, have you.”

There’s a nervous laugh stuck in Alucard’s throat, “Am I that obvious?”

“A little,” Trevor admits. He pushes Alucard’s jacket from his shoulders, watches it fall to the ground before he presses a light kiss to his jaw. “Don’t worry about it. Just a surprise, is all.”

“I didn’t have the opportunity,” Alucard says, catching Trevor’s lip with his teeth. “For… a number of reasons.”

“If you’re sticking around, you’ll have plenty of opportunity,” Trevor murmurs. He has to admit, if only to himself, that there’s a sharp flare of possessive _pleasure_ inside of him at the thought that he’s going to be Alucard’s _first_. It’s followed by a sharp stab of _but he won’t be yours_ that he has to crush quickly.

“Then I hope I don’t disappoint, then.”

Considering the very apparent bulge in his pants, Trevor highly doubts that he’s going to be disappointed.

He can’t help but let his hands wander a little, slipping them up and under the hem of Alucard’s shirt and his skin is cool to the touch, firm, and stretched across muscle. There’s no catch of scars against his fingers, which he is a little envious of. It causes a small spark of self-consciousness, because he’s got more than his fair share of them.

Alucard, though, doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers trace along lines of muscle and the hard ridges of old scars, eyes following his hands and it’s a very heady feeling to be the centre of his undivided attention.

Trevor bites down on his lip and looks down when Alucard finds the fastenings of his trousers and their subsequent fall to the floor. He’s more than a little self-conscious, standing there completely nude while Alucard is still almost completely clothed.

He makes a surprised noise when Alucard slides his hands under his thighs and picks him up.

“Hey!”

“You need to bathe,” Alucard says simply. “I’d like to be able to scent you without being hit with the rank stench of sewage.”

He hisses when he’s deposited in the tub, the water’s a little too hot against his skin. If he wasn’t about to go into heat, it would be soothing, but that’s not the case. His skin’s too hot and too tight, with the only relief coming when Alucard touches him – even briefly.

“If I’ve got to bathe, so do you,” Trevor says, sinking into the water. “C’mon, the tub’s big enough for both of us.”

“That was likely intentional,” Alucard replies. He kisses Trevor’s temple before he moves to remove his boots and the remainder of his own clothes.

A lump is quickly forming in Trevor’s throat. His body instinctually clenches down and there’s another wave of slick; his own cock’s already hard and standing to attention. Not _quite_ a heat, but painfully close to one. The simple act of _taking a bath_ with his mate is going to be enough to push him over the edge into his heat and Trevor’s more than a little embarrassed at the thought.

That thought’s quickly pushed away, though, as he watches Alucard undress.

Although he’s been with alphas previously, it’s not… well, he’s never actually _taken_ one. He’s never really seen one naked and up close before either. He can’t help but be transfixed as every inch of Alucard’s skin is revealed to him; pale as alabaster and just as smooth. Even that ugly red scar left by his father has faded completely.

His neck tingles in remembrance and he brushes his fingers along the rough edges of the scar left by Alucard’s feeding. But his thoughts rapidly skid to a halt when Alucard unbuckles the belts about his hips and lets his pants fall to the floor.

He’d not given too much thought to the differences in their anatomy. Even from a short distance, though, Trevor’s already making comparisons. He flexes his fingers, yearning to touch and map and _feel_ those differences for himself.

Alucard’s certainly… bigger than he is. That much is certain. Trevor feels a tingle of inadequacy that’s quickly squashed by his own instincts. He bites down on his lip and snaps his head away, staring at the water rather than at Alucard’s dick.

“Do you like what you see?”

Shit, he’s been caught. There’s a teasing lilt to Alucard’s voice, but it’s certainly not a cruel one.

He draws his knees to his chest, both to make room for Alucard in the tub and to try and hide his own straining erection. There’s no point to it, he knows, because his arousal is already beginning to clog the room with its scent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s the omega here, because he can scent Alucard’s spiking in response to his own.

He only looks back when Alucard’s climbing into the tub and his gaze immediately goes to his thighs. But not just because of what’s between them.

“You weren’t kidding,” Trevor says. He reaches out unconsciously, fingers brushing against the faint lines of his name along the inside of Alucard’s thigh. “You _do_ have my name.”

Alucard shudders in response to the touch, hands gripping the edges of the tub so tightly that it begins to splinter slightly. He sucks in a sharp breath, mouth a tense, tight line as he climbs in, dislodging Trevor’s hand as he does.

He doesn’t really think about what he does next. It seemed natural.

He crosses the distance between them and, even though it’s slightly awkward given how narrow the tub is, slides into Alucard’s lap. His hands rest on his shoulders and he bites down when their dicks brush against each other; they’re both rock hard and Alucard’s hands come to rest on his hips, gripping them tightly.

“Trevor–”

He kisses him.

Alucard makes a low noise in the back of his throat as Trevor slips his tongue into his mouth. There’s an edge of danger to kissing Alucard, because his tongue brushes against those too sharp fangs but Trevor doesn’t really care. It just adds a sharp spike to his arousal; he’s always liked dangerous things.

He’s not too sure if its his instincts or his own wants that are driving him. It’s probably a combination of the two, and he finds it very difficult to care. He drags one hand down Alucard’s chest, can feel the slightly slow, yet uneven beat of his heart beneath his hand, before dragging it down towards his final destination.

When his hand grips Alucard’s cock, he’s rewarded with a sharp nip to his bottom lip and a choked noise that sounds strangely out of place coming from the normally dignified and aloof Alucard. He pulls back a little, licking his lips and there’s the faint taste of iron.

There’s only a faint ring of bright amber around Alucard’s pupils. His breathing is strangely strained, which is a little surprising to Trevor as he’s hardly done anything but barely touch him.

Still, his curiosity is not yet slaked, and he drops his other hand to join the other.

Alucard’s cock is thicker than his is, and longer too. There’s a dim part of his mind that recalls that that shouldn’t be so surprising; he’s meant to be the one _conceiving_ , not planting the seed. Or whatever metaphor his mother and those old books had used.

He shivers as he drags his hand up along its length, already imagining what it’ll feel like to have that inside of him. None of the alphas he’d previously been with had been as impressive – though none had been particularly willing to _take_ him either. In that regard, at least, he and Alucard are on even ground.

“Trevor,” Alucard hisses. “Please.”

He blinks slowly, feeling a little bit of the haze of his lust clear, “Do you want me to stop?”

“ _No_. Just...”

Trevor tightens his grip, rubs his thumb along the head of Alucard’s dick and continues his slow up and down strokes. He drops his head to Alucard’s shoulder, his other hand wrapping around his own dick and that’s nearly enough to send him over the edge.

But it’s not enough.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m close.”

“I know,” Alucard replies. “What do you need?”

“ _You_.”

Alucard’s stroking his sides, his thighs, gently and it’s both comforting and inflaming at the same time. The fleeting touch isn’t enough and he _wants_ like he’s wanted nothing else; this is different and Trevor _knows_ it. His heats have never felt like this… he’s never… he’s never…

He’s honestly not too sure where his thoughts go after that.

What he’s aware of is Alucard’s hands on his hips, fingers brushing against the letters of his name on his skin and he’s making a choked noise in his throat that’s slightly reminiscent of a dying animal. He’s rolling his hips, grinding against Alucard’s dick and, though it’s awkward, wrapping his hands around both of them.

Alucard’s hands tighten to the point of pain on his hips. There’s going to be bruises. Trevor feels a rush of _relief_ and _want_ at the thought because _yes I’m yours yes please mark me_. And if he wasn’t so lost in his own arousal and heat, he might be a little concerned at how potent the want for that _is_.

He doesn’t last long, tumbling over the edge with a choked cry of Alucard’s name.

What surprises him is that Alucard’s not too far behind him.

 

 

 

“Your blood’s singing,” Alucard remarks softly, gently dragging a hand up and down Trevor’s spine.

Still feeling a little lethargic from his orgasm, Trevor makes a noise in acknowledgment, “Means it’s started, then.”

The water’s begun to cool, which feels heavenly against his skin, but he’s also started to tremble. Not from the cold, though, but a need to be taken that he’s never quite been able to come to terms with. But… it feels strangely right, to just lay here with Alucard, listening to the sluggish beat of his heart within his chest.

He hadn’t really thought that vampires had a heartbeat. But then, Alucard’s not _fully_ vampire; he’s got human blood in him too.

Almost absently, Alucard drags a finger down Trevor’s neck, “Are you still with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s not like I’m going to turn into some mindless animal; I’m just… gonna _really_ want to fuck for at least a day or two.” Trevor shifts a little, curling closer to Alucard, and adding softly, “And maybe I’ll be clingy for a little longer than that.”

Alucard hums thoughtfully, “I feel the possessive urges myself. That wanting – no, _needing_ – to take you.”

“Do vampires knot?” Trevor asks.

“Are… are you _asking_ me if I’d knot you?” Alucard sits up a little straighter, taking Trevor’s face in his hands, “You know the risks of that, do you not?”

“You mean that I’m more likely to conceive? Yeah, I know,” Trevor says. “But… but I want it and it’ll make this go a lot faster. I won’t be in heat as long if my body thinks that–”

“ _Trevor._ ”

There’s a shard of something sharp and painful lodged in his chest, “... do you not want to?”

“I do,” Alucard responds solemnly. “But I don’t want you doing this because _you_ think it’ll shorten your heat by tricking your body into thinking that it’s going to conceive.” There’s something dark and unreadable in his face, he gently takes Trevor’s in his, thumbs stroking along his cheeks, “I want _you_ to want this as much as I – not just to fulfill some biological function.”

Trevor blinks, slowly, the panic that had leapt into his throat slow to recede, “So… you’re saying that you _will_ knot me, if that’s what I want.”

“We will still need to take precautions, if that’s what you desire.” Alucard brushes his lips against his forehead, his temples, “As much as my instincts might _like_ to see you swell with our child, now is not the time.”

He nearly chokes, “You… you _want_ me to conceive? With you?”

“Not now. Not when it would needlessly put both yourself and the child at risk,” Alucard admits slowly. He glances away, “But… if that’s what you would want, in the future, then I would not say no.”

There’s a not so small part of him panicking at the thought because all of this means _commitment_ and Trevor’s not sure if he’s worthy of that. But there’s… there’s also that dark, ugly part of him that crows at the thought and hisses at even the _thought_ of Alucard so much as laying eyes on someone else.

He bites his lip, ignoring the thrum of his heat flowing through his veins.

“... you’re a fucking miracle, you know that?” Trevor makes a choked noise, the corners of his eyes burning. “You walk into my life and you just… want everything I’ve been told all my life that I couldn’t have. Or even expect. _Fuck_.”

“I worried that you wouldn’t want me,” Alucard admits slowly. “Despite my human mother, I am still half-vampire and you are the heir to the Belmont line. I feared that you would hold my nature against me; that you would reject me.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation after I jacked you off and while I’m in heat.”

“Better we know each other’s hearts before we do anything more.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Trevor takes a deep breath, ignores the way his body’s trembling – it’s not just his heat thrumming through his veins causing it, but the anxiety that’s taken up residence and is curdling in his gut.

“Would you claim me as your mate?”


	13. Chapter 13

The silence that falls after Trevor’s question is heavy and weighted.

And feels like it lasts _far_ too long.

It lasts long enough for the doubts and panic to begin setting in. Trevor’s about to open his mouth to take it back, to apologize, to do _something_ when Alucard lays his fingers gently against his lips. The panic bubbling up turns to confusion when he sees that the other is smiling softly at him.

“I would like nothing more,” Alucard says softly. “I’m yours, Trevor, as certainly as you need air to breathe.”

Something warm begins bubbling up inside of him, and it takes Trevor a disturbingly long time to realize that it’s _happiness_.

“So, that’s a yes, then?”

Alucard chuckles, “Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I think it’s about time that we finished in the bath.”

He feels strangely giddy and a lot like a boy half his age as the two of them finish bathing. He can’t seem to keep his hands off Alucard; insisting on washing his hair, and trying to touch each and every sliver of bare skin that he can. It makes Alucard laugh, and the sound is like something warm and molten trickling down his spine; which does absolutely nothing for the heat simmering under his skin.

It’s difficult to keep still as Alucard returns the favour, especially because he seems to be much more _patient_ than Trevor is. His hands are cool against the skin as he massages Trevor’s back, lingering only slightly against each scar that he finds.

“Sorry,” Trevor mutters, when it’s time to climb out of the bath. “Not all of us are gifted with extraordinary healing abilities.”

“You’re human; they show that you’re a survivor. You fought and won, that’s all that matters.”

It’s more than a little distracting to be near a very naked, wet Alucard. He can’t tear his eyes away, following the little trails of water as they make their way down his chest. And he has to marvel at just how… deceptively _slender_ Alucard is. There’s muscle, certainly, but it’s all lean and compact and really, _horribly_ distracting.

And, well, Trevor’s done with restraint.

Alucard’s still dripping water to the floor when Trevor presses up against him, catching his lips and pushing himself up against him. He shivers, arching up and rolling onto the balls of his feet, trying to close as much space between the two of them as possible.

He makes a noise into the kiss when Alucard’s hands slide under his thighs, picking him up with ease. He doesn’t even break the kiss.

It’s enough to remind Trevor that for as beautiful and slender as Alucard is, he could easily snap him in two. He shivers at the thought, but its not fear that’s setting his blood alight and making it sing in his veins.

Alucard breaks the kiss, burying his face into Trevor’s neck and breathing deeply, “You smell sweet.”

He muffles a laugh, turning his head to nip at the tip of Alucard’s ear, “Don’t all omegas?”

“You especially.” Alucard’s fangs drag along the skin, his nose trailing along Trevor’s jaw, “Sypha smells like flowers in the spring. But most omegas are _too_ sweet.”

“Aren’t I supposed to smell especially appealing to you?”

“I’ve tasted you,” Alucard murmurs. “And if it were not for my own restraint, I would taste you again.”

“You could.” Trevor tips his head to the side, exposing the expanse of his neck, “You know that I wouldn’t stop you.”

“And that makes you so unbelievably precious. Few humans would willingly offer such.”

“Never said I was smart.”

“No, you’re an incredibly brave – usually _reckless_ – man. But there’s something in there that’s infinitely appealing to me. I just can’t quite put my finger on it...” Alucard’s tone is light and teasing.

“Flatterer.”

“Is it working?”

Considering that he’s hard _and_ wet, Trevor thinks that goes without saying. He arches up, grinding against Alucard, as the other’s fingers brush against the mark at the small of his back.

“So sensitive,” he purrs. “I’ve barely touched you and already you’re so hard…” His hand drags lower, fingers pressing into the crease of his ass, “And so wet, too.”

Trevor groans, “And if you don’t do something about it soon, _I will_.”

“Are you uncomfortable? I know that it can cause discomfort and pain if left too long…”

“M’not at that state yet,” Trevor mutters, leaning in and brushing his mouth against Alucard’s. “But I’d really like you to do something about it _before_ then.”

His stomach gives an uncomfortable jerk and he’s a little alarmed to feel the bed at his back. It takes a little longer than he likes for his heat-addled brain to realize that Alucard’s moved them to the bed; had he been more aware, he wouldn’t have been taken so off guard by the movement. But then again… his body’s _also_ responding in ways he didn’t think it would.

The sudden move causes another wave of slick to wash through him. It’s more than a little uncomfortable now; he’s not been this wet before in his life, not even during his previous heats.

Alucard’s mouth is cool against his heated skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of his neck and collar that he can reach. There’s the occasional sharp nip – which has Trevor making a little choked noise in his throat – that’ll likely leave a mark, but not enough to break the skin.

There’s a little sting of jealousy that he can’t return the favour, but it’s washed away when Alucard wraps a hand around his dick.

“Someone’s feeling impatient,” Trevor manages, sounding awfully breathless even to his own ears. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

He shudders, dropping his head back against the pillows. Trevor has to blink past the lust, try and regain some semblance of rationality, and he slides his hands down to join Alucard’s. Biting down on his lip, he tastes iron on his tongue.

Alucard’s mouth and tongue are there, soothing away the sting and taste of blood.

_Damn vampire_. But it’s a thought without heat to it.

He has to concentrate, which is very difficult with Alucard’s tongue in his mouth, but clarity reasserts itself for a brief moment when their entwined hands brush against Alucard’s erection.

Right. He’s not taking that without preparation.

Trevor breaks the kiss, pressing another to the corner of Alucard’s mouth, “Here, let me… show you?”

Gently, he tugs on the back of Alucard’s neck, pulling him down and then rolling the two of them till he’s on top, straddling Alucard’s narrow hips. Honestly, he’s a little surprised that Alucard went along with it so easily; he’d always been struck with the thought that vampire’s were inherently possessive, dominant creatures.

But Alucard’s attention is rapt, golden eyes hooded but following every single move Trevor makes.

He’s not done this himself either, but years of being on his own have taught him what he likes – if not exactly given him what he _needs_.

Steadying himself, he presses a hand down on Alucard’s chest, slipping his other hand down and between his own legs. He has to lean forward a little and it’s not exactly the most _comfortable_ position, but the heat rises up his neck when he hears Alucard suck in a sharp breath as his fingers press against their destination.

He’s quite tense with anticipation and a not-so-small amount of nerves. Trevor’s fingers slip in the slick leaking out from his entrance and he has to resist the urge to bite down on his lip again. Instead, he circles the tight ring of muscle, taking a deep breath before he pushes the first finger in.

He makes a muffled sound that resembles that of a wounded animal.

Alucard’s hands are on his hips, stroking him gently and he murmurs something softly that Trevor doesn’t catch over the rush of blood in his ears.

From experience, Trevor knows that his fingers have never been enough. But he’d also rather not have anything _tear_. He curls his finger, breath hitching and trembling as it brushes against that spot inside of him – it’s not enough, _it never is_ – and slides in a second.

Working himself open is always an awkward, almost shameful thing to do. Trevor’s never personally liked it, having always craved for someone _else_ to do it for him, but it’s very hard to feel that same sense of shame when Alucard’s watching him so closely; pupils blown so wide that there’s only a faint ring of gold around the black.

He’s panting even before he pushes in a third finger.

Trevor’s body knows and remembers the rhythms that he prefers, rocking back on his fingers and, though awkward, he works himself open as best he can. But each rock forward brings his dick into contact with Alucard’s, reminding him that _this time_ he won’t have to simply make do with what he’s got.

He pulls his fingers out with a noise, planting his hand on the bed and just panting. He needs a moment; his body’s so hypersensitive that if he tries to take Alucard now he’s just going to cum before he even gets him all the way inside.

His hand is still shaking as he straightens, taking a steadying breath, using the hand on Alucard’s chest to steady himself, the other to guide Alucard’s dick inside. He’s helped along – which has him making a pleased little noise deep in his chest – by Alucard’s hands on his hips.

Either Alucard’s psychic or just really good at reading Trevor’s reaction, because he tips his hips up just right and _**oh**_.

If Trevor thought he sounded like a wounded animal before, it’s _nothing_ to the sound that his orgasm rips from his throat.

It takes some time before Trevor comes down from the high. His vision clearing and he shifts, whimpering softly because he slips down Alucard’s cock just a _little_ more and it’s too much, too soon but feels far too good to stop.

There’s a fine tremor running through Alucard. It’s clear that he’s hanging onto his control by the barest thread.

Rocking forward, Trevor leans down and brushes his lips against Alucard’s lips.

“ _Adrian_.”

This time, it’s Alucard’s turn to sound like a wounded animal. His hands tighten on Trevor’s hips – hard enough to bruise and Trevor _absolutely does not care_ – and thrusts up into Trevor’s welcoming body.

It’s all Trevor can do to hold, his body shaking through the aftershocks of one orgasm, but already feeling the twitches of another forming deep in his gut. He rocks back against Alucard, trying to match his thrusts and only succeeding about half the time. But he clenches down and _God_ but if only he could catch the other and keep him there forever; he’s never going to get enough of this feeling of _fullness_ , of _being complete_.

Instinct takes over.

Trevor’s only vaguely aware that he keeps repeating _Adrian_ over and over, like it’s a prayer and all that can keep him going. But it seems to drive Alucard on, whose mouth is dangerously close to his neck and Trevor should be afraid but he’s _not_ and all he wants is for him to _bite down and mark me please please it’s all I ever wanted_.

He can feel the telltale swell of a knot and grinds down, pinning Alucard’s hips to the bed with his own as best he’s able. His nails are clawing long red trails across Alucard’s pale skin, which heals just as quickly as they form.

Trevor was absolutely not prepared to take Alucard’s knot.

It’s overwhelming and wrings an orgasm from him that has him actually _blacking out_ for several moments. All he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, the sound of someone crying out his name; his throat raw from responding in kind.

There’s the soft prick of fangs against his neck, sinking in and Trevor lets out a pleased sigh. They’re gone soon enough, Alucard’s tongue soothing the wound and encouraging it to close.

Alucard’s still shaking as he runs a hand through Trevor’s hair, cupping the back of his head and guiding his lips to his own bared shoulder.

“Your turn,” he murmurs.

There’s a thrill inside him that _almost_ has him stirring again, but the throb of Alucard’s knot inside of him, still pumping him full, distracts him and he mewls softly against Alucard’s neck.

He kisses the skin, before he bites down.

And loses himself once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all just need to know one thing about me: I'm an absolute dumpster fire of a person, and this is my trashfire of a fic. Enjoy.


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